The Sword of Damocles
by manic-intent
Summary: Altair x Malik, Ezio x Leonardo and permutations. AU, where Ezio does not miraculously recover in Roma.
1. Chapter 1

[A/N: I am hoping to work this into an Altaïr/Ezio/Leonardo, plus or minus Malik, or a mixture of pairings between the four of them. Will see. Will also try and work on another segment of the Vitruvian Man at the same time, and see where either idea goes. :3 I love writing AU fiction. Here's one where there was no miraculous disemboweling strike recovery.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 1

I

Delirium was a cruel creature, Ezio decided; he was bleeding to death from Rodrigo's dagger to his belly, facedown on the mosaic in Roma, and yet, at the same time, he was on his back in a bed that swayed and bumped as though in movement, and his father had his hand in a tight grasp, talking urgently.

"… Ezio? Ezio, you _cannot_ sleep, do you understand me? Ezio, _wake up!_"

"You are dead," Ezio meant to say, a little annoyed; surely his father could wait but a moment for a wayward failure of a son to join him in heaven or hell, but he could only manage a thin moan. The grip on his hand tightened, as though in reassurance, and there were cool fingers probing at his belly, a cold cloth pressed over his forehead.

For a hallucination, this was rather creative. Ezio managed to laugh, wetly, through the agony, trying to share his joke with his personal ghost.

"That is the last of the poison," Leonardo's voice, now, weary and tight from stress. "The wound is treated to the best of my ability. The rest is up to Ezio."

"Thank you, Leonardo." His father's voice, again, as Ezio slid further, away, into the warmth of sleep, likely to his death. The very thought filled him with a sense of mixed injustice: he had _failed_ to stop Rodrigo, failed to save the world, and yet… and yet, he was so _tired_.

II

On the wire-thin awareness of an assassin, Ezio's body awoke a heartbeat before his mind, grabbing the intruder's wrist before it descended on his neck.

"Ezio?"

Leonardo's voice. Mutely, Ezio attempted to focus, blearily opening his eyes. The cloth on his head was removed and quickly replaced with another, cool and wet. He was in a wagon, dressed in breeches and boots, propped up on cushions and rushes, Leonardo kneeling beside him, to his right the whickering of tethered horses, to his left the low sounds of hushed conversation, at his feet a set of chests and crates.

He could make out a darkened, open sky and a seemingly endless, sloping plain, dusty and fringed with dying grass. Other supply wagons and carriages were strung in a haphazard curve around the simmering embers of a fire; around it, seated on crates and on rocks, were Mario's _condottierri_. Further afield, also guarded by mercenaries, were huddled groups of Monteriggioni villagers, particularly women and children.

"Leonardo?"

"Here, drink." Leonardo held a glass of water to his lips, and Ezio managed to get some of it down his parched throat, guiltily letting go of his friend's wrist. "Are you better? The fever has abated. I will inform your parents."

Instead of his usual colorful finery, Leonardo was dressed in greys and browns, dusty with travel, the clothes well-made and well-worn. The absence of the red cap on his friend's tawny gold hair was the oddest of all, and Ezio stared at the unadorned crown of Leonardo's head for a long, disoriented moment before speaking.

"My father is dead," Ezio frowned, looking wonderingly around him. "Where are we? I was in Roma. I had failed, Rodrigo has both of the Pieces, he means to wake the tomb!"

"You are raving," Leonardo squeezed his hand gently, his eyes pinched and hollow from a clear lack of sleep. "You have been delirious for days. It is the fever. Do you not remember?"

"Where _are_ we, Leonardo?"

"On the way to Masyaf," Leonardo said soothingly, "We will be there soon. Monteriggioni has fallen despite the best of our efforts, and we have battled Templars much of the journey. You yourself took a grievous wound in our last encounter. I… I am glad to see that you are over the worst of it."

"Do not jest, Leonardo," Ezio growled, struggling to sit up, jerking his hand out of Leonardo's grasp. "I was in _Roma_. Monteriggioni was fine when I left – it is a fortress that has withstood sieges through time. Why are we headed to _Masyaf_?"

"It is one of the last of the holdings of the Creed," Leonardo explained carefully, looking genuinely confused. "It was your idea. Do you not remember? You convinced everyone that it was best to seek refuge with Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad."

"This must be Rodrigo's doing," Ezio felt around his hip for his blade, but it was missing, as were his bracers. "I will not fall for your illusion, maestro! Come on out and face me!"

"_Caro mio_-"

"Do not mock me, Rodrigo," Ezio sneered, slapping away Leonardo's hands and struggling to his feet, propping himself against the side of the wagon and looking around for a weapon, "This illusion is ridiculous. We are in Roma, my father is dead, _Altaïr_ has been dead for _centuries_, and Leonardo is only a friend!"

The immediate flash of hurt on Leonardo's handsome, expressive features looked genuine enough that Ezio hesitated, but he narrowed his eyes as Giovanni Auditore pushed past Leonardo to stand before him. His father was dressed in assassin whites, his missaglias armor pitted and worn, his boots and cape stained with travel.

"Ezio."

"Oh, come now," Ezio said, contemptuously, "Are Federico and Petruccio alive as well? Is this meant to tempt me?"

Giovanni moved like a viper; Ezio did not see his palm until it cracked smartly across his cheek. He stumbled back, spitting out an instinctive curse and shoving Leonardo roughly away when his friend tried to steady him.

"It may be delirium or worse," Giovanni said, his tone even, "But at the least have the courtesy to hold your tongue. Your brothers are murdered and your mother and sister are grieving, and if you would have no respect for the cares of the living, perhaps you should at least have respect for the dead."

"Giovanni, he is not himself," Leonardo was quick to interject, but Giovanni held up a palm.

"Leonardo, go to Mario and tell him that my fool son is awake, and then check on your cannon and your devices. _Go_."

"I… very well." Leonardo ducked his head, flushing and avoiding Ezio's eyes, slipping off the wagon and heading towards he end of the wagon train, his shoulders slumped.

Once Leonardo was clearly out of earshot, Giovanni sighed, and sat down on the rushes, running a palm over his eyes. "If you do not even remember Leonardo, then perhaps the crack to your head when you were felled from the poison was worse than we believed."

"I do remember Leonardo, and this is not Leonardo," Ezio insisted stubbornly, fingering his jaw.

"Oh, and am I also not your father?" Under the cowl, Giovanni had a dangerous gleam to his eye that Ezio remembered all too painfully clearly from his childhood. "You stubborn child, what must I tell you? That you fell into the river when you were five and pretended to drown by diving and hiding, sending Claudia to tears and your mother into distraught hysteria? That you and Federico used to chase each other over the rooftops, and once you slipped from a pole and fell headlong onto one of your cousins, nearly scaring her to her death? That the first time you met Lorenzo as a child you informed him, much to the embarrassment of the Auditore, that you did not like the color of his robes?"

Ezio bit at his lower lip, wavering. On one hand, these were all clear, private memories; on the other hand, he had no idea what the Pieces were truly capable of. "This is what I remember, 'father'. I was in Roma, with the Apple. I meant to assassinate Rodrigo, but I failed, and the last I remember was him freezing me with the staff and using a dagger to cut my belly open, leaving me to bleed to death on the tiles."

"Roma is the capital of the Templars, and Rodrigo is at its heart. You, I, many have tried, but we have never been able to penetrate it. We do not have the resources. We have been fighting a losing battle with the Templars for a long time, since they acquired the sword, the staff and the Apple." Giovanni pulled back his cowl, running fingers distractedly through his hair. "Every last one of the Assassins is now precious, and if we have lost you, my son, one of the best of us all, then perhaps the Creed will be doomed in my lifetime."

Perhaps, Ezio reasoned mutely, attempting to process Giovanni's words, he was in Hell, and Hell's games were more perverse by far than the visions of the most crazed of the zealots on the streets. If this was an illusion, why would Rodrigo bother with such intricacies? Why not simply end his life? If the object was to cause him despair, why return Giovanni to him, why surround him with allies en route to Masyaf?

"Where are my weapons?"

"Here." Giovanni tapped on the chest in the wagon. "Leonardo made sure to clean them."

There was accusation in his father's voice, but Ezio ignored it, edging along the sides of the wagon to the chest and slumping down beside it, opening it. With the bracers back on his wrists, he felt instantly better.

The best move would be to accept this 'world' for now, until he could figure out its twisted logic and find Rodrigo, or in alternative, find out why he was trapped here instead of either waking or dying. It was not as though Ezio had much to lose, given his last memory before emerging hence.

"How are the others?"

"Your mother and sister are well, in the circumstances." Grief was writ clear in the paleness of Giovanni's cheeks and the deeper creases of the crow's feet at his eyes and over his brow, but his mouth was set in a thin line. "Mario was injured, but not seriously; he will limp for a week. We managed to evacuate most of Monteriggioni during the last leg of the siege, but our supplies are stretched thin. We must reach Masyaf soon."

"Was there no other option but Masyaf?"

"The Medici have fallen, and the Sforza," Giovanni said, irritable, "There are none. You yourself pointed this out."

"I remember nothing right now," Ezio put up his hands, placating, "It will come back to me."

"So long as you still remember how to use a blade, at present the rest is of little consequence," Giovanni replied gruffly, seemingly mollified. "But until you remember I would suggest begging rest and speaking as little as possible to the others. Everyone is highly strung now, and stressed. It has not been an easy journey."

"No doubt," Ezio said, wondering if Giovanni's suggestion was because the other, less detailed illusions, would be more easily caught out. His father's simulacrum was well crafted, but Leonardo's was already clearly flawed. He had little doubt that Mario's, his mother's, and the rest of his family would be similarly so. "What of Antonio, Rosa, _La Volpe_, Bartolomeo, Paola and Teodora?"

"_La Volpe_ I have not heard word of. No doubt that man is still alive, somewhere," Giovanni shrugged. "Paola is in hiding in Firenze. Antonio and Rosa have also gone to ground, with the rest of their guild. Bartolomeo and Teodora are dead."

That was convenient. "And now the Templars have overrun Italia."

"They have overrun much of the world, by all reports."

The wound in his belly, the scratchy rasp of the wood behind his naked back and the crisp night's breeze felt all too real for an illusion, Ezio decided grimly, as his mind cleared slowly from the pain and the immediate shock of the violent changes to his world. It was clear that Rodrigo had achieved his goal, breaching the tomb, and instead of the destruction that Mario had predicted, instead, he had used the Pieces, somehow, to recreate reality itself.

And yet it did not explain why Ezio remained, healing, with allies… unless Rodrigo intended to take his time, to murder the worst of his enemies again, like a cat playing with a mouse.

He might now be the mouse, Ezio thought, absently running the thumb of his left hand over the spring mechanism of his right bracer, but he still had teeth.

"I will rest as you have suggested, father. _Mi dispiace_ about my outburst."

"Apologize to Leonardo," Giovanni said dryly, getting to his feet to help Ezio back onto the cushions. "If you cannot bring yourself to be kind, at least do not be cruel."

"You know that my preference is for women," Ezio pointed out warily. This particular… development with Leonardo was the oddest of all. Leonardo was his closest friend, and if need be, Ezio would gladly die for him, but he was _only_ a friend. Granted, the man was handsome, kind and wise, and Ezio loved him, but it was not more than a brother's love, at the most.

"So you have said," Giovanni seemed amused, shaking his head. "This one, as you have also said, is the sole exception."

III

To Ezio's mixed relief, he was left mostly alone, and he spent his time sleeping. Occasionally he would be dimly aware of his family, speaking at him in muted tones or changing the cloth on his forehead, but he did not respond, trying to think his way out of his situation. A clear target to kill, an item to steal, such tasks he could gladly turn his mind to, but with a world so out of kilter, Ezio felt lost, and not a little afraid.

Still, at least, he was alive. That was better than bleeding out on the Basilica's hallowed floors, at least.

He was able to walk without stumbling when they set up camp for the night in an abandoned shell of a town, the alien, squarish sandstone and mud huts long left for the ghosts. Skeletons with their skulls rent and ribs chipped still lingered in the dirt in some of the huts, their bleached jaws agape in silent accusation at the living.

Ezio found himself wandering away from the subdued clamor of camp, heading outwards into the sad little ruin. A river ran sluggishly under the remnants of a bridge, a short walk from the ghost town, and upon it was a familiar, neat figure in a brown doublet and cowl, that raised its head as Ezio approached warily.

"_La Volpe_."

"Aye, child." _La Volpe_'s violet eyes looked him over briefly, then he shook his head and glanced back at the river. "Such a mess of the world you have wrought."

"I… a mess?"

"This is not meant to be, or have you also forgotten?"

"No, no I have _not_," Ezio said, stumbling over his words in his relief, suppressing the urge to embrace _La Volpe_. "You remember!"

"Of course I remember, child," _La Volpe_ said, annoyed, "There is only one _La Volpe_ in all of the tangent worlds and I am he, and my eyes are always open. I take it that you failed to prevent Rodrigo from opening the tomb."

"I did. I was too weak." Ezio admitted.

"No matter. Perhaps it was also our fault. We had sent you into the lion's den alone, and now we cannot be surprised if you were devoured." _La Volpe_ pursed his lips. "Rodrigo has used the Apple and the Staff to activate the tomb. The river of time has been diverted into the tangent reality most favorable to the Templars, away from the Balance. This must be corrected."

"I do not understand what you are saying."

"Just take my word for it that these events are not new to me. The Templars have been trying to achieve this for centuries." _La Volpe_ waved a hand over the town, encompassing it, "We have always managed to correct its course. But _this_ time… this is the largest scale of such an undertaking that I have seen. It troubles me."

"And it is odd," Ezio ventured. "My father is alive. So is Altaïr, at the same time."

"There must always be a balance, even in the worst of the worlds. It cannot tip fully one way or the other. That is the reason." _La Volpe_ responded, as cryptic as ever. "You are headed to Masyaf. Guide your family to Masyaf and speak with Altaïr. It may be difficult, but live in this world for a time. I will return to Italia and attempt to discern how this process can be reversed."

"If I could have the Apple, and the Staff, and return to the tomb-"

"Theoretically? Yes. But how would you reach the tomb, or attain either? They are closely guarded, and on a scale that you are not used to. I will find a way."

"Let me go with you," Ezio took a step forward, wincing as pain flared in his belly. "My family in camp-"

"Your father is alive and your mother is well. In this Templar's world, perhaps that is as silver a lining as you can get. I would suggest enjoying it while you can… and perhaps when you are recovered, I will come back." _La Volpe_ raised a hand, palm up. "Safety and peace, Ezio Auditore."

"Swift journey and God's blessing." Ezio returned, disappointed, but understanding the reasoning. As he was now, he would only be a burden.

He was still thinking _La Volpe's_ words over as he returned to the town, leaning for a moment under the battered awning of the skeleton of a pottery shop to catch his breath. A crackle of broken pottery under someone's foot, to his left, made him turn, his hidden blades at the ready, switching briefly to his second sight.

A man was hidden in the shop, but his outline was a bright, reassuring blue. Ezio relaxed, pushing aside the rotted cloth at the doorway and walking inside.

Leonardo flinched violently when he realized he had been caught, and looked away, blushing. "Ah… I was coming after you to see if you were all right."

"I was clearly not in this room," Ezio teased, his trained eyes taking in Leonardo's position and the broken window with the view of the river, and he sobered. "Did you hear it all?"

"I, ah," Leonardo's fingers were twisting together, a sure sign that his friend was trying to decide whether or not to lie. "Most of it. It does not make sense, and yet it does. I will inform-"

"No, leave the rest out of this. Even if they are not the family I am used to they are still my family. I do not want to cause them undue worry." Ezio stared hard at the river, almost longing.

"Was it a better world, then?" Leonardo's voice was a whisper.

"The Templars and the Assassins worked in secret, and most of the world were unaware of our war, living out their usual lives with little to no interference," Ezio said, wondering how to describe a world in just a few words. "You were a great artist, an engineer, a philosopher, living in Firenze, then Venezia, you were going to Milan as an ambassador, one of the most famous men in Italia."

"Then it is better than now, when entire cities can be sacked because of an affiliation to either side," Leonardo said, his expression grim. "If I can, I will help you."

"_Grazie_, Leonardo," Ezio said, grateful. Leonardo's offer might not amount to very much in the scale of matters, but at least it was some support; his friend's easy faith and trust was reassuring. "I am sorry about my words, earlier, and I hope I did not hurt you."

"Then, are we…?" The hope in Leonardo's eyes, in his tentative smile, nearly made Ezio swallow the truth, but he could not live a lie, and his friend deserved better.

"But what I said was true. In the true 'river of time', we are only friends. The best of friends, but no more. You are celibate, as far as I know, and once you said that I had more than enough interest in women for the both of us combined, when I asked you the same."

"I… I see." Leonardo said, clearly agonised, but struggling to hide it. "In that case, I will keep that in mind. We… we can be friends."

"_Mi dispiace_, Leonardo," Ezio felt awkward in the face of his friend's pain, but he had no other options. Sometimes it was necessary to be cruel to be kind. "But it will be for the best. I will make things right again. How far are we from Masyaf?"

"A week's journey into its territory," Leonardo was avoiding his eyes again, looking out through the window. "I am thinking that there must be a faster way to travel that either lightens the basic load on the horses, or better, will not rely on horses at all. I was making sketches the other day, though, Mario said I was better off inventing more cannon."

"At least the rest of you is indeed the Leonardo I know," Ezio grinned, clapping Leonardo on the shoulder and ignoring the faint, instant flush to his friend's cheeks. He knew now what he had to do, and fear and doubt were behind him.

-tbc-


	2. Chapter 2

[A/N: Out of necessity I will be changing everyone's characters a little. As to the continuation to Second World, still working on a way to begin. Also, for those curious, Federico and Petruccio are dead because I can't handle too many unique characters at one go.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 2

I

Too weak to ride, Ezio submitted himself with reluctance to an enforced rest in the wagon, wincing whenever it lurched or jerked. At least the driver was one of Mario's _condottierri_ rather than Leonardo; Ezio was not in the mood for receiving or giving words of comfort, and he found the naked adoration in his friend's eyes in unguarded moments disorienting.

Absorbed in cleaning out the miniature cannon (Leonardo had settled on 'pistol' as a name, for reasons unknown), Ezio did not register his visitor until the horse settled into a trot beside the wagon.

"_Claudia_?"

"What is with that look of surprise?" Claudia demanded crossly. His sister was dressed demurely but outlandishly, in a pale blue, high-necked blouse, mannish breeches and high boots. Over her hips were belts, one with a slim rapier, the other a dagger. Over her wrists were filigreed bracers, the grace and intricacy of silverwork a clear sign of Leonardo's hand.

"You… what…. an _assassino_?"

"Mother objected most strenuously, but when Monteriggioni came under siege she finally saw reason." Claudia's hair was tied into a severe coil over her skull, and she looked nothing like the perfumed, painted lady that Ezio had left in Monteriggioni. "I had to persuade you first, if you do recall. Federico was far easier."

At the mention of Federico's name, Claudia's lips thinned, and before she could continue, Ezio cut in, "Surely I was not difficult to convince. You are my most _beloved_ sister. You had your brothers at your beck and call."

"So I did," Claudia hunched her shoulders briefly. "Are you better? Father said that the knock to your head has caused a loss of memory."

"It will pass." Ezio said, as reassuringly as he could, deciding that he was not, after all, entirely surprised at his sister's change of wardrobe.

Like all of the Auditore, Claudia had a vein of steel within her, born and bred as part of the Auditore line of assassins. Even in his 'reality' she had always seemed restless in Monteriggioni, always plying him for tales of his exploits, but he supposed that she had never had reason or means to fully enter their world, protected first by their father, then by their uncle.

Speaking of their uncle, Ezio supposed that no one else could have taught Claudia. It seemed a safe route of conversation in the fog of displaced memories. "Your lessons with Mario-"

"Pah! That old lion never gives up a chance to complain to our father." Claudia scowled. "He may have taught you, and Federico, but he refuses to teach me. Mother still does not fully approve, so Father will not teach me; Mario does not approve at _all_, so he will not teach me, _you_ are my teacher, Ezio." Claudia's grin was quick. "After all, you could never refuse me anything."

"I hope you are not taking advantage of my temporary loss of memory," Ezio said dryly. The sister he remembered had always had a wide streak of cunning, and he would not put it beyond her.

"Oh? If you like, I could cry. Again." At Ezio's wince, Claudia added, amused, "If it is much comfort, Federico caved first."

"I am sorry about Federico and Petruccio," Ezio said quietly, as his sister's face fell again at the very mention. Federico had always been her favorite. "I too, grieve their loss."

"It was quick. _Dio mio, _at least it was quick." Claudia stared hard at her hands. "And at least I did not lose you as well."

"I will not die so easily," Ezio assured her, "I am recovering, and then you can show me how far we have progressed in your lessons."

"_Bene_," Claudia said, her smile wan. "I was worried when Father forbade Mother and I from speaking to you. I thought something terrible had happened, that perhaps you were not recovered and Father was hiding the true extent of your injuries so that Mother would not worry."

"He forbade… then why are you here?"

"Hah! He is discussing strategies with Mario and will not be checking on me for another hour yet," Claudia tossed her head defiantly. "I wanted to see for myself."

"And your _gracious_ verdict, sister?"

"You seem fine to me. At least where your family is concerned." Claudia's amendment notified Ezio of her true concerns – that perhaps he did not remember them as he did not remember this version of Leonardo.

"How could I ever forget you, dear sister, and the few years of our childhood when you used to torment me for being shorter than you?"

"You have always had a very large opinion of yourself, _dear_ brother. Someone must always be at hand to deflate it before it explodes." Claudia said expansively, the wariness in her expression fading. "Anyway, I will not be the judge. I have seen head injuries where a man can walk for hours afterwards, and then will drop, stone dead. A loss of memory is a little thing. Ask me what you want to know."

What could he start with? Ezio had so many questions about this odd 'tangent reality' that he did not know where to start, but Claudia was patient, waiting through his silence, until he asked, finally, "Are these people all that are left of Monteriggioni?"

"Some did not wish to leave Italia. These are the ones who have agreed to follow us." Claudia looked down the line of wagons and horses and walking men and women with a sigh. It was a painfully small number, only a fraction of the occupants of the bustling commune that Ezio remembered. "As it is, we are most likely being followed. There is no method by which we can hide so large a contingent. We are a big target, fat for the picking, and Altaïr cannot spare any escort that can meet us."

"We will reach Masyaf by our own means." Ezio noted that several wagons interspersed in the line were covered heavily by canvases, undoubtedly containing cannon or other devices. Leonardo had been busy.

"Many shoot nets, or smoke that causes an enemy to sleep," Claudia said, following his gaze. "There are three that shoot special shells, infernal things that burst and blast shrapnel that shred everything in their path. Leonardo wept when he saw the bodies, but Mario would not let him dispose of the cannon."

"A compassionate weapons engineer," Ezio fingered the miniature 'pistol' on his wrist. "Surprising."

"_Surprising?_" Claudia's voice rose a notch, then she seemed to control herself carefully, taking a deep breath. "He is with us because of _you_, Ezio. These pistols that we carry, that many of the _condottieri _carry, that have allowed us to hold out so long against the Templars? The gas bombs, the precision cannons, the mechanical glaives? I could go on," Claudia continued, snappish, "But suffice to say, Altaïr did not agree to take on so many more mouths to feed, so many more non-combatants to protect, until _you_ told _him_ that Leonardo would be coming."

"_Bene_, sister, _va bene_," Ezio held up his hands in surrender. "But I truly do not remember."

"Before he was in love with you he was a painter, a sculptor, who disdained war, even ours," Claudia sniffed, "If he reverts again because of your _stupido_ loss of memory, then the Auditore have lost their greatest asset. But you are stubborn like the rest of us, that much I know."

"If it hurts him so to create such devices then perhaps he should paint," Ezio growled, annoyed at his sister's accusations. "He is important to me and I will not _use_ him if it will destroy him. By your words the war has taken too much from us already."

He expected one of his sister's tirades, but to his surprise, Claudia's hard stare actually softened. "Do not let Mario hear you say that. Perhaps you have truly only temporarily forgotten. At least the sentiments are still there."

"I _hate_ it when you test me."

"I had to make sure," Claudia retorted, unrepentant.

"A loss of memory will not change who I am," Ezio felt only a little guilty lying to his sister.

After all, _La Volpe_ had advised him to live in this reality until they could fix matters, and after the talk with his sister he was fairly sure he knew the rough boundaries of the Ezio that had been. At the very least, he would be able to fit into the world to a degree enough that his mother and sister would not be concerned.

"Then when can you speak to Mother?"

"Once I can walk?" Ezio gestured at the bandages over his stomach. "I am not very mobile at present, and I doubt Mother is as resourceful as you are."

"Hah," The gleam in Claudia's eyes told Ezio clear enough that she was, more than likely, merely being her mother's scout. "I will tell her that there is nothing to worry about and she will turn on Father. Perhaps tonight you will see some fireworks."

"Father has enough on his mind right now…" Ezio frowned, sitting up further and ignoring the pain. Under the heavy rhythm of the wagons, he could hear the faint drumbeat of approaching horses. He closed his eyes, reopening them in the second sight of flaring colors, scanning as he forced himself to his feet, against the wagon.

Behind them, to the left, were a dozen horsemen, in faint, fast moving dots even in the Sight, the men smoldering figures in _red_.

"Claudia-"

Claudia had already made the connection. "Men, to arms! Defensive positions, we are under attack! Uncle, Father!"

"Claudia, stay here," Ezio growled, wincing as he tried to unsheathe his blade. "Give me your horse."

"Find your own horse," Claudia retorted, putting spurs to her steed, hurrying up the line to spread the alarm.

Swearing under his breath, Ezio glared at the approaching horsemen, feeling useless. Even if he could intercept them, he would be trampled. Looking around for someone who could give him a horse, Ezio was nearly knocked off his feet by a sudden _boom_ from a wagon behind him, the roar of a cannon awakening; in the distance, one of the horses screamed and reared, thrashing in its death and crushing its rider beneath it.

There was an answering crackle of miniature thunderclaps, like a burst of fireworks, and another four horses fell, kicking and rolling, and then the riders were upon them. The shouts of men and the screams of women, from the cannon team, spurred Ezio on as he forced himself off the wagon, lurching towards the stricken wagon, and then he straightened as horses thundered past him, his father, his uncle, and a pair of _condottieri_.

Claudia reined her horse up at his side, glaring at him. "What are _you_ doing stumbling about, brother?"

"We are under attack," Ezio pointed out, irritable. "And if you think I am just going to cower in the wagon-"

"_Bene, va bene!_ Here. Climb on. At the _back_, meaning _behind me,_ and no, I am not dismounting. _Subito_." Awkwardly, Ezio curled an arm around his sister's waist, trying his best to ignore his pain as Claudia urged her steed back into its charge.

Mario had a lance, and he had thrust the bladed edge into one of the Templar, using the momentum of his charge to impale the man through his armor and off his charger. Giovanni had slit a man's throat with his sword with cold efficiency, in a flash of steel as he had swept past, and was expertly maneuvering his horse to face another.

"It will be over soon," Claudia said, a throwing blade in her delicate fingers, her eyes narrowed.

"A stupid attack, with so few men," Ezio mused, scanning the area in his Sight, and frowning at the logic. It would not be like the Templars, at least not those of his time, not to come out in force, unless… There was another red dot, mounted, some distance away, watching them, behind a copse of trees. "Claudia, there! Ride!"

"A scouting party," Claudia said, realization dawning, and pushed her knees into her horse. The watching Templar hesitated, and began to draw his blade, clearly deciding that he would be more than a match for a wounded man and a woman, but then thought the better of it, sheathing his blade hastily and turning his horse around to flee.

"Coward!" his sister shouted, preparing to spur on her horse, but Ezio made the quick, logical deduction – two people on a horse were very unlikely to catch the one, especially if their quarry already had a head start.

"Claudia, turn the horse. Stop. _Stop_." As his sister obeyed, Ezio concentrated, aiming, gritting himself against the recoil and the flash of gunpowder. The Templar's horse reared in panic as its rider became dead weight, tangling in the reigns, the horse twisting and falling, crushing its unlucky owner beneath it. "There."

"And the rest of us have finished," Claudia was looking back to the wagons. "They will know that the scouts have found their target."

"_Si_, but they will not know much else, and we knew we could not afford stealth with so many. But they will come again, and in greater numbers." It was a desperate situation, one with difficult choices that he refused to make. Reaching Masyaf would not be difficult in a smaller, more mobile party, but they could not abandon the civilians that had entrusted their lives to the Auditore.

Four men were injured, but there were no casualties. Mario scowled as his men dragged the dead out of the way and stripped the surviving horses of their Templar colors, to attach them to the wagon train. Giovanni had trotted up to meet them, looking relieved.

"Good work all around," his father declared, leaning in to kiss Claudia on the forehead and clasp Ezio on his arm.

"Good _work_? _Porca lurida puttana! _We outnumber them and we _still_ have injured," Mario growled, behind him, no doubt transferring his glare to the cannon crew. "Be _careful_ with that, _cretini!_ We have no way of remaking the ammunition until we reach civilisation!"

"I am going to speak with your mother," Giovanni said, ignoring his brother, "Ezio, you should rest. Claudia-"

"What is my niece doing dressed like that?" Mario said suddenly, aggrieved, "Giovanni, what have you been teaching your daughter?"

"I am sure she has a good reason," Giovanni said, benignly, though his questioning stare told Ezio clearly enough that his sister had been _very_ cunning. As he had originally suspected. "Claudia."

"Ezio has offered to teach me," Claudia said, defiant. "I am an Auditore. All of our line are assassins. I do not see why I should be denied my blood right because I am your daughter rather than a son!"

"Ezio, is this true?" Giovanni asked mildly, his lips twitching upwards, while behind him, Mario sputtered.

"Well," Ezio hedged, wary of his sister's temper, or worse, _tears_, "She asked me."

"Ah, well, in that case, if you have already agreed-"

"Giovanni, you cannot be _serious_," Mario growled, his horse shouldering up against Giovanni's. "Claudia is a young _lady_."

"You taught her how to ride, Mario," Giovanni pointed out blandly. "With great result, I should say."

"Hn," Mario cleared his throat, flattered but unwilling to let go of his disapproval. "Riding is different."

"Lady Caterina Sforza could fight," Claudia ventured.

Mario glared. "Caterina Sforza is a p-"

"Hold, Mario. Claudia has a point. We are short on hands right now and her bloodline is not in question. If she wants to learn, she can learn. _But_," Giovanni continued sharply, as Claudia perked up, "Any missions or endeavors must be approved by both myself and Mario. As are Ezio's, and the others under our command."

"_Grazie_, father, uncle," Claudia said sweetly.

"Understand this, however," Giovanni said soberly, as Claudia turned the horse about, "Being an Assassin is not a right or a privilege. It is service. It is sacrifice. And at the end, it will be your death."

"Father," Claudia replied evenly, "Two of my brothers are dead. I _understand_."

II

"Leonardo," Claudia stopped in the middle of helping Ezio off the horse. "I can change the bandages."

Leonardo's smile was brittle, but his friend held his ground beside the wagon, the medical bag in both hands. "No, I can manage. Unless Ezio objects."

"I will trust Leonardo's medical opinion over yours, sister," Ezio said, trying to lighten the sudden tension with a joke, as Claudia supported him over to the wagon, but by the tension in her shoulders he could tell that his sister was not reassured. "Could you check on Mother for me?"

Claudia stared at him, considering, and he held her eyes in challenge. Finally, she bowed her head, mounting back up on her horse. "Very well."

Ezio waited until Claudia had disappeared back down the train before leaning back and pulling off his shirt, ignoring the soft intake of breath and staring resolutely up at the sky as nimble fingers began to undo his bandages. "Why did you make her those bracers?"

"I did not. They were Federico's. She must have stolen them from your father's chest. I think she must have put padding under her wrists to make them look as though they fit." Leonardo smiled wryly, "She is as much an Auditore by her daring as the rest of you are. By the way, you never previously agreed to teach her."

Ezio could guess as much. "But Federico did?"

"_Si_, he did." The bandages fell away, "But then…"

"But then he died." Ezio winced as Leonardo probed at the wound, thinking things over. He supposed it was not as though it would harm Claudia, and perhaps it would give him something to do as he recovered. "I will teach her. If you can, modify the bracers to fit her."

"_Bene_, if you are sure," Leonardo said doubtfully, cleaning the wound. "It is healing well. I think the bandages can go in a few days, and then you will just have one more scar out of many." A thumb tenderly traced an old scar over his flank, and Ezio tolerated it, pretending not to see the guilty look Leonardo shot his way.

"You were a painter. Why did you become our engineer?"

"The Medici house had fallen. War consumed Venezia. You forced me to leave with you to Firenze before it had. It was my decision to make, while we were trying to hold Firenze."

"So it was not my request."

"No. You were the one sole person who disagreed with me. You said I was a painter and you would rather die than have my hands create death over beauty." Leonardo turned, to put his instruments back in the medical bag, but not quickly enough to hide his lopsided smile. "I think I fell in love with you then. It was not really a good argument, yours, seeing that I had built your bracers – and your brother's bracers – by that point." A sigh, as Leonardo closed the bag. "In the end, it only delayed the inevitable. Lorenzo was slain, and with him, Firenze was lost."

Ezio tried to process the rest of Leonardo's words, deciding not to comment on the words of affection. So Lorenzo too had passed on, in this timeline – that much seemed inevitable. If Leonardo's devices had failed to save Firenze, Monteriggioni… "How was Monteriggioni lost?"

"They tried to breach our walls. When that failed, they tried to starve us. Then they used their siege machines to throw corpses into the city, to try and create plagues, tried to poison the water, tried to send spies into our midst. All of it failed."

"And then?"

"And then Rodrigo came, with the Apple, and the Staff, and the Sword," Leonardo said grimly, "And the walls fell."

"Masyaf may be no different." The scale of power that the Pieces represented was difficult to process.

"Masyaf has the Shield. You felt that it would make the difference, at least until we could regroup." Leonardo hands were twisting at his bag, as though nervously. "We could fortify it physically with my devices. If we can reach there, we should be safe."

"We will be," Ezio said firmly, finally alighting on the source of his disquiet with Leonardo. The air of distraction seemed to be gone, the Leonardo that was endlessly fascinated with everything in the world at the same time, who chattered much of the time about the incomprehensible. "Do you still paint, sketch? Other than the inventions."

"Ah… no. Not for a while, there is no time. I need to modify-"

"I want you to," Ezio interrupted. "Every day. Then I want you to show it to me. Something that does not have to do with war. Birds, perhaps. Flowers. Claudia."

"Mario will say-"

"I will speak to Mario. Besides, would you rather listen to Mario or to me?" Ezio drawled, teasing.

"_Bene_," Leonardo's smile, the _genuine_ one, was stunningly handsome, even under an increasingly unruly fringe and the smudge of dirt over his cheek. Unprepared, much to his personal disbelief, Ezio's heart skipped a beat. "I will show you."

-tbc. This is sort of a reversed romance, lol. I think this version of Leonardo will probably be more assertive.-


	3. Chapter 3

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 3

I

"Masyaf," Giovanni said, pointing to the distance as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Ezio could make out tiny pinpricks of light, far in the distance, high above ground, and let out a sigh of relief.

They stood on the roof of another ruined village, one on an outcrop of rock that overlooked the rolling lands before them. The damage to this one looked recent: bloodstains were still visible in discolorations on the walls, though the bodies had been buried in a mass grave at the foot of the sheer cliff, marked by a single white, unadorned stone. Overturned vases, boxes, shattered glass and children's toys still lay where they had fallen, in a sad tableau that accused the living.

The mountain that housed one of the most famous of bastions of the Assassins stood in the distance, a dark outline against the night. Behind them, the wagons had set up a defensive perimeter around the huts, and pairs of _condottieri_ had been dispatched as scouts.

He could walk now, and ride without aid, but Templars had harried them since they had crossed into the wide belt of Templar territory that surrounded the Assassin stronghold. Casualties were mounting, morale was low, and their supplies were running out. He did not know Altaïr, or of the arrangement between the various Assassin sects, but he prayed that the famous Assassin would not renege on his offer of protection.

"We should send a messenger ahead to Masyaf, now," Ezio said, the very thought troubling him. "No doubt the Templars will make a concerted effort to attack us before we reach Masyaf's territory."

"Who could we send?" Giovanni replied, staring ahead into the distance. "The messages we sent before, by pigeon, asking for escort, were rejected. They are stretched thin even in Masyaf, God help us."

"A person, someone more persuasive than a terse note."

"And who can make it through the Templar's defensive belt to Masyaf? Even if a messenger made it through, why would Altaïr pay heed? The responses given to us stressed that he has no men. Even if we sent a person to speak to him, even assuming the person makes it through the Templar's lines, this will not change the fact."

"I will go," Ezio offered instantly, knowing that getting a messenger through was the only way. "I can make it past the line, I will convince him. We have women, children, elderly and injured, and we have made it so far – surely he cannot let us all be murdered within sight of Masyaf."

"We need you here," Giovanni disagreed. "The scouts have reported that the Templars are massing. They will strike. The only question is _when_."

"Decamp here, with defensive positions, set traps. I will take a fast horse, I will be there by the morning, and then I will return with help."

"And if no help is offered?"

"Then I will return anyway." Ezio gestured at the camp behind them, at the thin sounds of children weeping, unsettled by the clear miasma of recent death in this set of ruins, their mothers hushing them. "We cannot protect so many and reach Masyaf unscathed. There is no better choice."

"You are still injured," Giovanni set his jaw. "I will go."

"Who was the one communicating with Masyaf?"

"You," Giovanni admitted reluctantly, "But you do not remember it. Do you even remember how to speak Arabic?"

"No," Ezio admitted, a little abashed. "But-"

"I will speak with Mario and leave immediately." Giovanni turned from the roof, dropping lithely onto the grass with a grace that gave lie to his age. "Defend our people in my absence."

"Father, I…" Ezio grit his teeth. "I will not fail."

II

Morning dawned in a pale, sickly gold that seemed to leech warmth from the shimmering turf that spread from the abandoned town to the dusty road. Cannon were trained on the horizon, the civilians huddled in the heart of the town, and cavalry awaited, horses restless and whickering. The cannon would be useless once the enemy were too close.

Men perched on rooftops and crates, bows and pistols at the ready. Claudia looked irked when Ezio informed her that she would be in charge of the civilians, along with her mother.

"You have given me lessons. I can fight."

"Three or four days' worth of lessons does not make you a fighter," Ezio disagreed, with a sidelong glance at his mother.

Maria Auditore was also dressed in riding clothes, yet she managed to look queenly in a dusty frock and boots, smudged and hair askew. It was difficult to juxtapose this image with the Maria he remembered, broken and kneeling by the bed in the Villa, lost in the past and in her private torments. Ezio swore to himself that it would not happen to _this_ Maria, that no harm would come to any more of his loved ones, no matter what world he was in.

"Claudia will protect us here, if any men break through," Maria said firmly, with a hand on her daughter's right bracer. "I will trust no other."

"Ah… thank you, Mother," Claudia said, her irritation punctured, flattered instead. "You can rely on me, Ezio."

"Your father, do you think he will… have trouble?" The faintest crack in Maria's calm came only at the mention of her beloved, as long fingers, stained with travel, fussed at his collar and his cowl.

"If anyone can make it to Masyaf and convince them to help us, it will be father," Ezio said, putting as much reassurance as he could into his tone.

"I know he has traveled there before," Maria sighed, fiddling now at Ezio's surcoat. He suppressed his impatience, bearing her attentions with patience. "I know he has spoken with Ibn La-Ahad, met him several times in the conferences of war, but it is a long way to Masyaf by himself, through the lines."

"He had the cover of night. He will be fine."

"I hope… no, I know you are right." Maria smiled, a forced smile. "Go, my son. Please, stay safe."

"Have you seen Leonardo?"

His mother's expression didn't change, but Ezio could sense that her mood was… warmer somehow, less careful. "I think he was checking on the cannon. Why?"

"I want to make sure he is not caught out on the frontlines. I will take him back here before he gets distracted and forgets."

"That is a good idea," Maria seemed cheered, _relieved_, for some reason that Ezio could not immediately discern, but he did not have time to question her. "He does tend to be distracted easily."

"On the right side of the defenses, I think," Claudia chipped in helpfully.

"_Grazie_, sister."

III

Leonardo, as it turned out, was in the left corner, trying to convince a pair of doubtful _condottieri_ and Mario to allow him to disassemble a cannon. Mario glared at Ezio as he approached.

"Tell Leonardo that he is being a _cretino_."

"Leonardo is many things but a _cretino_ he is not," Ezio said, instinctively defensive. "What is the problem?"

"The cannon pulls to the left. I wanted to fix it."

"If it pulls to the left, then we just fire a little more to the right," Mario snorted, irritable. "_Si_?"

"But-"

"After we are in Masyaf, you can fix the cannon however you like," Ezio grabbed Leonardo firmly by the arm, tugging his friend away from the lines. "Uncle, will you be staying here?"

"I will be riding out. We will try to flank them when they break themselves on our line. _You_ will be staying here." Mario hesitated, looking him over. Ezio was dressed in assassin whites, the clothes familiar, and the missaglias armor and surcoat hid the remainder of the bandages. "That is, if you are-"

"I am recovered, well enough."

"Come back once you are ready, _nipote_. We will have to discuss timing."

"_Va bene_, uncle."

Leonardo, at least, had known Mario long enough to wait until they were out of earshot, circling back to the civilians, before murmuring, "It did pull to the left."

"No doubt," Ezio said, amused. "But it can wait."

"I suppose so," Leonardo did not seem convinced. "But it would not have taken very long at all to fix the error."

"Did you draw something today?" Ezio asked, trying to take Leonardo's mind off wayward cannon.

His friend looked a little embarrassed. "I did, but it is not yet finished."

"I know your idea of 'not yet finished', Leonardo. Show me."

"Well, it is very rough," Leonardo said, apologetic, though he rummaged anyway in the pouch at his belt, taking out a scrap of paper, "And I am running out of materials."

"That will not be a problem shortly." The sketch was of Ezio, standing on a roof, looking at a faraway smudge that was probably meant to be Masyaf. Even on the few economical lines that composed the sketch, the weariness, the tension on his shoulders, had been captured perfectly, lovingly. "Ah."

"It is not exactly the season for flowers." Leonardo took the scrap back from him hurriedly, almost protectively, secreting it back in his pouch.

"But a good season for assassins?" Ezio grinned, tilting his head slightly as the clamor of voices increased. They would be near the picket of civilians soon.

"It usually is," Leonardo said wryly, exhaling, then coming to a stop.

"Leonardo?"

"What are the chances that we will survive today?"

"This is a good position. If they come at us with the men they had before, it will be easy," Ezio said firmly.

"I have good ears, Ezio. They mean to throw a small army at us, do they not?"

"My father has gone to Masyaf."

"The same Masyaf that informed us repeatedly that it had no men to spare for our sakes." Leonardo bit at his lower lip.

"If the Templars come for you or my Mother, Claudia, the others, they will only do so over my body, Leonardo."

Somehow, this did not seem as reassuring as Ezio had thought: Leonardo merely paled. "Do not say that. _Dio mio_, do not talk of dying."

"Then what do you want me to say, Leonardo?" Ezio retorted, a little exasperated, also on edge from the incoming battle. He did not like waiting; he was used to the approach, to stealth, to happen on the enemy when it did not expect him. On the hill, behind cannon and shouting men, it felt as though he was waiting for death, and he was never the diplomat even at his best.

"Only a fortnight or so ago you awoke from a sleep that I thought would be your last," Leonardo said, an uncommon edge to his tone, "And then you did not remember _us_, and that was fine, _fine_ for the first few days to smile and carry on as though it did not matter, and then I listened to you speak to _La Volpe_, and realized that it was not 'fine' at all, that you would never remember."

"And then I tried to let it be – even when we _were, _it was never perfect, nothing is perfect, but even as you are now no one looks at me the way you do," Leonardo said, with weary bitterness, "Not as someone to _use_, a creator of weapons and machines, but as a _person_. You want me to paint? No one has said that to me for _years_, no-one but you. I cannot stop being in love with you."

"_Mi dispiace,_ Leonardo," Ezio said, uncomfortably, "Perhaps we should discuss this later."

"There may be no later. I just wanted you to know," Leonardo hung his head. "If we die today, I do not want you to go without having heard me tell you, _ti amo_."

Inwardly cursing at himself for compounding the problem, Ezio hugged Leonardo tightly, ignoring the startled, choked moan and the arms hesitantly going around his waist, the complaint of his wound. "There will be a later."

"And if there is none?"

Perhaps Leonardo was right, Ezio felt. His father going to Masyaf for help was a long shot. If the number of men coming was true, it was very likely that they would not survive, even with a perfectly executed defense. The town had no surviving walls to speak of, even if the enemy could only come at them in one direction due to the cliff, and the cannon would be useless if the attackers came close. And here, possibly, his last moment with his best and closest friend would be to cause him pain; there were no words of comfort that Ezio could think of.

Instead, he curled fingers into Leonardo's increasingly unruly hair and tilted his head up, gently, brushing an awkward kiss over his friend's lips that was meant to be chaste; only for Leonardo to make a deep, whining sound in his throat and press close, arms circling his neck and a tongue pushing into his mouth. Leonardo kissed like he was drowning, all sweet desperation, and Ezio found himself walking them back into a wall, growling as he willingly deepened the kiss. It was as though he remembered, the taste, the scent, the warm weight in his arms that trembled and writhed distractingly against him.

"More," Leonardo panted, against his mouth, with a ragged groan as Ezio pulled back for air, the hunger in his voice twisting an uncomfortable coil in Ezio's throat. "Please, Ezio, _more_."

"Later," Ezio said, as forcefully as he could, grinning despite himself at Leonardo's frustrated growl. "So take care of yourself, Leonardo. We will have to discuss this later."

"Discuss… _bene_," Leonardo said, with a quick, brilliant smile. "Then, later."

IV

Leonardo had devised stoppers for the gunners' ears, to keep them from being deafened by the cannon, and so Ezio watched the first line of horses go down to shrapnel with muffled _booms_ and a constant, surreal background buzz. He had one of Leonardo's pistols, the weapon heavy and unfamiliar in his hands; for some reason, like all of the cannon, the other pistols, the weapon was, obsessively, beautifully crafted, with etchings and carvings on its safety and muzzle, such detail in a device for death.

They were outnumbered three to one, with heavy infantry behind the cavalry, but the enemy was coming up at them from the bottom of a slope, and in one direction; Mario had a group of _condottieri_ watching the cliff, just in case, also placed to assist the non-combatants if necessary.

The cannons spoke ahead, in their heavy thunder, and then the riders were near the line of barrels, set on the slope. Ezio drew a bead on his, and fired, just as the first rider spurred his horse over it.

The explosion of gunpowder and chemicals spat a burst of brilliant orange flame into the sky, destroying horse and rider both, the flame speeding over the thick, oil-drenched rope hidden in the grass to other barrels. Men and horses screamed and thrashed in the grass, and the cannon had the chance to fire another salvo, but even with the line of flame on the grass, some Templars leapt through, grim men with death in their eyes, descending on their lines.

"Bows and pistols!" Ezio commanded, taking the stoppers from his ears, as he had discussed with Mario, "Shields and spears to the front!"

The _condottieri_ at the cannon line fell back behind men with shields and halberds, that knelt and waited at the ready for the charge. Pistols cracked in a flurry of retorts and the acrid stench of gunsmoke around him, arrows whistling after the heavy _twangs _of bowstring, as Ezio and the _condottieri_ behind the defensive line fired indiscriminately into the advancing army.

And then it was _chaos_. Horses leaped at the line, wild-eyed and spurred on by their riders, their hooves drumming into hapless defenders, or falling, impaled and screaming; _condottieri_ threw weighted nets from the rooftops, trapping riders and panicking their steeds. Ezio sprang down from his perch onto a soldier, punching his blade into his throat, and leaping from the saddle to another, teeth bared, his hidden blade stabbing into an eye. Behind him, men cursed as their steeds ran into the line of barbed nets strung between the ruins, that cut off the non-combatants, curses turning into shouts of shock as _condottieri_ emerged from their hiding places in the ruins to dispose of them.

It was short and brutal, but Ezio had expected as much; the cavalry were clearly there simply to silence the cannon, as the real enemy advanced behind them, the infantry.

The flames had ebbed enough to show Mario's forces, harrying the rear of the Templar force, but the army had obviously been tasked with wiping out the survivors, the front ranks marching grimly on, spears and blades at the ready, behind their doomed cavalry.

Wishing he was back in a world which made more sense, and committing his soul to God, Ezio drew his blade to meet them head on, the remaining _condottieri_ rallying beside him. The first man against him died without a sound, the haft of his spear sundered and Ezio's sword drawn across his neck; the second gurgled and choked as Ezio thrust his sword under his ribs and into his heart. After that, finesse became a luxury in the press of men and blades; there was only the primal, ancient need to survive.

The infantry seemed taken aback by the defenders' ferocity, but Ezio knew grimly that the confusion would only be temporary. Even with the Templars' heavy losses, the Assassin forces were outnumbered. _Condottieri_ fell around him, impaled on halberds or hacked to ribbons, and they were being pushed back, slowly but surely, to the very nets they had set up to protect the others.

There had been a blade drawn in a shallow cut over his forehead, and the blood from the wound was making it difficult for Ezio to see. He refused to catalogue the rest of his injuries, fighting silently, teeth bared, ducking a swipe from a spear, grabbing its shaft and bringing his blade down on the soldier's wrist, then upwards, cutting him open from the belly as the man staggered back with a cry, blood in a thick, warm spray over his hands.

He turned to face another, and the soldier actually took a step back; Ezio wondered how he must look, bloodstained, teeth bared and wild-eyed. A desperate man, about to go to a desperate death.

Then there was the faint sound of a multitude of horns, of an approaching, mounted force. Unable to hope for a moment; Ezio nearly had his head severed as he paused to watch the Templar forces at the rear hesitate, and then begin to flee. With renewed ferocity, sensing victory, the remaining _condottieri_ pressed on, shouting in relief, in triumph, forcing the infantry back until they were in rout.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, Ezio sat down heavily on an overturned cannon, wiping at the blood on his brow, dumbly watching the _condottieri_ and the combined cavalry chase off the remnants. He flinched violently, his hand going to his blade, as a cloth pressed over his brow, but Leonardo made no comment, his smile hesitant, only to drop to an unhappy frown as his friend registered the violent death all around them.

"Secure the perimeter," Ezio told the few milling _condottieri_ that had stayed. "Check on the others. Tend to the injured."

"_Si, subito_."

"It is over," Leonardo said, disbelieving, tensing as a group of riders broke away from the group to approach the defensive line, then exhaling as he recognized them. Giovanni reined to a halt once he was before them, dismounting, the relief joyous on his lined face.

"Ezio. You are well?"

"_Si_, father." Ezio got to his feet, handing the cloth back to Leonardo and embracing his father, then his uncle, wincing as Mario's bear hug crushed his ribs. "Minor injuries."

The third horseman he did not immediately recognize: a short haired, sun-baked Arabian man with searching eyes, slender and dressed in black and white robes, a blade at his hip, his left sleeve empty, but the fourth was instantly familiar. A white cowl hid all of Altaïr's face but a stern jaw, his bloodstained white robes devoid of trimmings, a red sash over his robes.

"Altaïr ibn La-Ahad," Ezio breathed. A legend stood before him in the flesh and he could only gape like a star-struck child.

Giovanni seemed amused, speaking a short phrase to Altaïr and his companion in Arabic, likely to this effect. Altaïr snorted, but his companion chuckled, inclining his head.

"And the joint Master of Masyaf, Malik Al-Sayf." Giovanni introduced. "My son, Ezio Auditore, and our engineer, Leonardo da Vinci."

Malik nodded, though Altaïr made no comment, and to Ezio's surprise, the one-armed man spoke, in heavily accented but understandable Italian. "It is an honor to meet you at last, Ezio Auditore, Leonardo da Vinci."

"No, the honor is ours," Ezio hastened to correct, with as courtly a bow as he could manage, Leonardo following his stead. "It is only my regret that it could not be in better circumstances."

"What better circumstance than victory?" Malik countered, with a quick smile. "Gather your women and children and put the wounded on the wagons. We march for Masyaf."

"_Grazie_, _Maestro_."

Altaïr scowled, muttering a quick string of words in Arabic and returning to his horse, mounting it and trotting down the slope to the regrouping men. Malik's smile grew strained, and Ezio glanced questioningly at his father.

"It was not a gentle morning for the _Maestro_," Giovanni said mildly, with a wry smile. "Mario, could you get our men to come back?"

"Very well," Mario said, a little reluctantly, glancing between Malik and his brother suspiciously, but mounting his horse and trotting back down the slope.

"How did you persuade reinforcements to come?" Leonardo guessed first at the heart of the matter, with his quick mind.

"I did not. _Maestro_ Al-Sayf did. _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad stood by his decision not to expend more of his men – they were still recovering from a recent skirmish – but _Maestro_ Al-Sayf threatened to ride out alone, and he had no choice."

"Then-" Ezio turned to Malik, with a smile, but the co-Master of Masyaf held up his hand.

"There is no need to thank me. Women and children of the Creed were in danger. I must only apologize for Altaïr's… reluctance. It may seem callous to you," Malik said quietly, "But we are truly stretched thin. Had the forces we lent today taken heavy losses, Masyaf would have been sorely tasked to survive another month. If your contingent had arrived here without non-combatants in need of protection, we would not have sent any forces out to meet you."

"Is it truly so bad?" The question slipped out before Ezio could control it.

At Malik's sharp, surprised stare, Giovanni intervened. "In our last major skirmish with the Templars I lost two of my sons, Federico and Petruccio. Ezio survived, but with concussion and a grievous wound that he is still recovering from. He has temporarily lost most of his memories."

"It is a cruel world, this one that we live in," Malik said soberly. "I am sorry about your loss, _Maestro_ Auditore. _Messer_ Ezio, I wish you swift recovery."

"The Templars will pay for it," Giovanni responded, though he only seemed bone-weary.

-tbc-


	4. Chapter 4

[A/N: Reading Medieval Demographics, the average size of a town is about 1,000-8,000 people. Monteriggioni was fairly big for a town, and it had fortifications and a current population of 8,000 (2004 survey), so let's say 4,000 for the game, 2,000 for a messed up AU version that survived siege, 1,000 that chose to go/made it to Masyaf, about half of which are _condottieri_. Still, must have been one giant wagon train that somehow made it to Arabia, lol. I love fuzzy numbers.

Also, such that Mario and Giovanni aren't technically (very) old farts in this AU, Ezio does start off the story around 40 years of age, but the AU slips him into a younger self, maybe in his 30s. Yes, Al Mualim and Rodrigo could still kick serious ass as an old fart and _La Volpe_ is the oldest of all the old farts, but let's leave it to my peculiar sensibilities.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 4

I

The assassin whites of Masyaf were of plain homespun cotton, rougher than the uniform Ezio was used to, but his clothes had been taken away to be washed, and clean, fresh robes felt sinful to the touch. When he limped out from the facilities, he was directed by a silent Masyaf assassin to the main stair in the foyer, which led up to a wooden mezzanine library interspersed by tables. Men pored over maps of fortifications and reports over each, and did not look up as he passed.

His father and Leonardo were speaking with Altaïr and Malik at a large central desk with a stained glass view of Masyaf. Malik nodded at him as he limped up to join them, but Altaïr paid him no heed, looking over a thick sheaf of papers on the desk.

Through the window, Ezio could see Mario and a cowled Claudia, along with a handful of Masyaf assassins, directing the Monteriggioni refugees into pre-arranged housing and areas. For the most part, the Masyaf citizens merely watched, curious but silent with an unnatural poise, while the refugees milled, confused and weary. Ezio was reminded that Masyaf was different from Monteriggioni: this was a true Assassin's commune, where many of its citizens joined the order. In Monteriggioni, only the Auditore were assassins, and the citizens were usually either traders or families of the Auditore _condottieri._

Leonardo was speaking in Arabic, seemingly effortlessly, which made Ezio silently curse the Pieces. Could he not at least have retained _some_ of this world's Ezio's language skills? Feeling a little left out, Ezio glanced at the papers that Altaïr was looking through, and recognized Leonardo's hand immediately. The papers were all schematics of weaponry, pistols, hidden blades, glaives and cannon, thick with Leonardo's odd method of back to front note-taking, and devoid of his usual whimsical unrelated sketches.

Giovanni interrupted twice, and Malik made a comment that was precluded by a wry smile, and finally, Altaïr sighed, gruffly saying something that seemed like grudging praise. Ezio tried his best not to bristle, even as his father and Leonardo visibly relaxed.

"So, we pass?" Ezio muttered to Giovanni, trying to keep the edge from his voice. Legend or not, now that he had time and place to collect his thoughts, even though he knew that Altaïr had good reason, he could not so easily forgive the very idea that they could have been left to die within sight of safety.

"We pass," Giovanni said dryly, not without a faint note of warning. Malik chuckled, even as Altaïr continued to ignore him.

Somewhat confused, Ezio wondered how in God's name had he managed to persuade Altaïr to take them in, given that the assassin seemed so hostile. Perhaps it had been in joint, formal communiqués from Masyaf that were actually written by Malik. There was nothing soft about Malik that Ezio could sense, but at least the one-armed man seemed _human_. Altaïr was all ice.

Perhaps it was just the rude morning, Ezio felt. God knew that for all his kindly, mild-mannered appearance, even when fully armed, his father would raise Hell itself when he did not get what he wanted, let alone when his family was in danger.

Leonardo was speaking again in Arabic to Altaïr, earnestly, no doubt in incomprehensible technological terms, and after a few monosyllabic responses, Altaïr finally began to respond in longer phrases, seemingly asking intelligent questions, by the looks of Leonardo's visible pleasant surprise. Soon the two men were bent over one of Leonardo's sketches, with his friend illustrating his point in extravagant gestures and Altaïr nodding and pointing at various details.

Ezio looked away, at the books, finding himself a little irritated, _possessive_, even, and was analyzing the feeling when he noticed Malik watching him. The one-armed man offered him a brief, knowing smile, and Ezio bit back on a scowl at the presumption. It was not as though… well, he had promised Leonardo a discussion later, and had intended to spend it explaining how the kiss had been meant only to reassure, nothing more. Much to his exasperation, he found himself instinctively revising the script that he had been writing in his head while he had been cleaning up.

Giovanni was watching the refugees from the window, and Ezio retreated to his father's side.

"Mother is resting?"

"No, she has insisted on doing her part," It had been a long marriage: Giovanni's expression registered only fond exasperation. "She is taking care of the women, particularly the pregnant. Claudia is performing a headcount and a stock take. Mario is with the… barracks master, ironing out details about troop assimilation."

"Mario can speak Arabic?"

Giovanni looked amused. "All of us could, son, you and Federico in particular, and a few other languages besides, even the difficult tongues of the Orient. This is an age of desperation for us assassins as we face joint extinction at the hands of the Templars, and we can no longer afford to ignore each other." Giovanni turned back to the window with a sigh. "You and Federico had been primed to take over Monteriggioni from myself and Mario. Now we have lost Federico _and_ Monteriggioni."

"You still have your wife and two of your children," Malik had appeared unobtrusively at Ezio's side, with such stealth that Ezio was briefly startled – and not a little awed. "Take that as a blessing in these times, _Maestro_ Auditore."

" 'Giovanni', please. Titles and formality are unnecessary when we are the ones throwing ourselves on your mercy." Giovanni smiled, with easy diplomacy.

"Then I too, insist on 'Malik'," Malik responded, looking down at the courtyard, his expression unreadable.

"You have children, _Maestro_… Malik?" Ezio corrected, when Malik arched an eyebrow at him.

"Not I. Altaïr once had a family, but no longer. These are difficult times." Altaïr had raised his head to look at them when Malik had said his name, but turned back quickly to his discussion with Leonardo. "Decades ago, Masyaf would not have had the space to house you. Now, however, I think we will manage."

"We have some supplies, and we can help till fields. We have livestock and seeds from Monteriggioni, and your weather is fair." Giovanni gestured out of the window. "We will not starve."

"It is good to know that we will not be competing for food. Masyaf is an assassin's commune, and this is a war. Hopefully that will also salve the usual friction between differing cultures." Malik said soberly, "But on the safe side, perhaps assimilation should be taken gently."

"You will find our women rather more independent and headstrong," Giovanni grinned. "I have asked them however to cover their heads, but they did not agree to veil their faces."

"I did notice that your daughter bears arms as we do," Malik drew up his remaining arm briefly to reveal the bracer under his long sleeve. "Can all of your women fight?"

"No. Claudia is an exception. In her runs the Auditore blood. She is taking lessons, but I fear that her sudden interest in her family's work may run on vengeance rather than the Creed. She is very close to her brothers, and Federico was her favorite."

"A woman's vengeance is far more fearsome than a man's," Malik noted, amused rather than appalled. "May the Templars feel the brunt of her wrath. I will spread word to our men and women that they should be a little forgiving of a different culture, a different faith. And it looks as though Masyaf will of necessity have four _Maestri_."

"No, not at all," Giovanni said, startled. "Mario and I did not come here to wrest leadership from you or _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad."

"Your people will not so easily follow us," Malik pointed out, "It would be better if decisions were made jointly – as they will be. Altaïr and I will welcome your input, yours and your brother's."

Altaïr looked up again, cocking his head, and Malik spoke a brief string of Arabic to him. He glanced at Giovanni, then out of the window, then shrugged. _Whatever you decide_, the gesture seemed to say. It was an odd form of shared leadership. Over the past weeks Ezio had observed a similar dynamic with Giovanni and Mario – some decisions were ceded to either – but something of this import would have been jointly decided. Altaïr seemed content to leave such a difficult matter to Malik's hands, his trust apparently seamless.

"But your people may feel that we intrude on your authority," Giovanni said, unwilling to relinquish his point.

"They understand that you and your brother are also _Maestri_ of the Creed. There will be no conflict. But if there is, I will be happy to discuss how to resolve it." Malik was used to leadership and its politics, Ezio noted, decisive and wise.

"I accept your guidance, Malik." Giovanni bowed, the issue resolved. "I will inform Mario of it."

"Here in Masyaf we train assassins from our people, and do not have many guardsmen. Your brother's _condottieri_ will be welcome." Malik glanced out of the window, where Claudia was performing an inventory on a group of clustered _condottieri_ with a quill and a large book.

"Ezio, myself and Mario will also be available for missions," Giovanni offered. "My son is most capable."

"So I have heard." Malik said, offering Ezio another warm smile, which he acknowledged with a bow. "_Grazie_ for the offer."

When the one-armed _Maestro_ smiled, his severe face became handsome, expressive: not as handsome as Leonardo, Ezio felt, but still striking. It was curious that Malik had no children… but then, it was a harsh world, and perhaps his wife had been murdered, possibly alongside Altaïr's family. Uncomfortably, Ezio was aware of the dispassion with which he regarded the conclusion. This world and its easy death were beginning to change him.

II

Gentle assimilation or not, the thousand or so strong remnant of Monteriggioni were clearly intent on celebrating their safety, and the music and dancing were contagious. Casks of liquor and bottles of wine from Italia were opened, and the mood was refreshing in its gaiety. Ezio perched on a roof, enjoying a glass of wine: it felt like ridiculous luxury after the last few weeks.

Usually, he would be all for joining the revelry, but Giovanni's recent lecture about Masyaf's culture, two days ago, was still fresh in his mind. Flirting, Giovanni had advised, with a sidelong and pointed glance at Ezio, was _highly_ inadvisable, even if in the spirit of harmless fun, and-

"Ezio?"

-and relationships between men were forbidden. Ezio suppressed a sigh, looking down. He had hoped that secreting himself on a roof would have allowed him to successfully avoid the one person he did not want to speak to right now, but it seemed that this world's Leonardo had an unerring instinct for his immediate location.

He considered hiding, but Leonardo caught sight of him, looking up with his bright, hopeful smile, and Ezio's determination shriveled. "Leonardo."

"Why must you always choose such difficult places to sit?"

"Do not hurt yourself. I will come down."

"No, no." Leonardo had clambered up a set of crates, gingerly reaching for a handhold, gratefully grasping Ezio's hand as the assassin hauled him up. "This is a nice view."

"I had thought so." Ezio sat on the edge of the sandstone roof, and Leonardo sat beside him, a little too close to be comfortable. As Ezio was considering whether or not moving away would hurt Leonardo's feelings, his friend took the glass from him and took a sip.

Noticing Ezio's startled blink, Leonardo blushed, returning the glass. "_Mi dispiace_. Habit."

"I will not begrudge you a drink," Ezio poured more into the glass and handed it back. "To survival."

"A poor toast. To a better tomorrow," Leonardo raised the glass, taking a deep sip, then returning it, watching intently as Ezio did the same.

"You were always better at words than I." Ezio replied, unable to meet his friend's eyes, staring hard at the men and women dancing and carousing around the bonfire in the Masyaf courtyard near the main gate instead. "It is a good thing you were there. _Maestro _ibn La-Ahad looked fit to kick us out."

"He has a lot of concerns. Medical supplies are precious, and we brought in a lot of wounded. Some of our people are sick, some pregnant. It was a logistical conundrum." Leonardo shrugged, taking back the glass. "_Dio mio_, I am glad that I do not have to run a community."

"So you will build cannon tomorrow."

"I will have to inspect the smithy that he has. We have some moulds, carried from Monteriggioni, but I may have to make more." Leonardo stared at him, searchingly, then took a scroll from his pouch. "_Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad provided me with paper."

The sketch was of the library, from the stair, light from the arched window. At the table, Altaïr and Malik stood, discussing something, Malik's hand upraised, Altaïr's right hand outstretched. Perfect composition, a beautiful economy of lines, and the same irritation that Ezio had felt when he had seen Leonardo speak so excitedly with Altaïr rose within him.

"Why do you not draw Italia?" The question was out by instinct.

"Why… well, I was not aware that you had a request," Leonardo said, sounding a little confused, and Ezio remembered his words, previously, when he had asked Leonardo to draw whatever he liked, and hated himself a little.

"No, no, it was just a question. I was curious." Ezio handed the scroll back to Leonardo. "Surely you miss Venezia."

"I did not want to remind you of the losses we have suffered."

"I do not remember the loss of Venezia, Firenze, Monteriggioni, Leonardo." Ezio leant back on his hands, looking up into the sky. "Do you take requests?"

"Anything, Ezio, for you."

"I never had the chance to watch my brothers grow up, from… from where I was," Ezio struggled briefly with the words. "If you could-"

"It will be my pleasure." Leonardo edged closer, until their thighs were touching, seemingly unaware of Ezio's instant tension.

"Leonardo. My father said-"

"I think he may have been mistaken on that point. If you would look up on the battlements, to your right, without making it obvious…"

Ezio did, searching with his peripheral vision. Hidden from the crowd by the shadow of a watchtower, but not from where they sat, were two small, familiar figures, one in assassin white, the other in black and white robes. Altaïr had Malik pressed up against the stone, one arm pinning Malik's wrist to the stone, the other clearly busy between their bodies, his teeth in Malik's neck as the other assassin writhed, evidently in ecstasy.

Flushing, Ezio looked away, hastily downing the glass of wine. He could feel a headache coming on. "Ah."

"And of course, the dynamic between them was rather obvious during this morning's meeting." Leonardo continued. He sounded… wistful, for the lack of a better word. "That is, if you know what to look for."

"Then why was _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad so friendly with you?" Ezio muttered, a little light headed from the wine as he poured them another glass.

"Ezio," Leonardo sounded amused, "Are you jealous?"

"No, why would I be jealous?" Ezio growled, irritable.

"You were always possessive," Leonardo took the glass from him, grinning as he took a sip.

"It is not being possessive," Ezio snapped, snatching back the glass, "Everyone was speaking Arabic and it was disconcerting."

"All right," Leonardo said, clearly humoring him, "It was the Arabic."

"Look, Leonardo, I thought you understood, we are _not_-"

"Then, why did you kiss me?" Leonardo asked quietly, his smile disappearing.

"I thought we were going to die," Ezio muttered sullenly, glaring at the sky. Thankfully, Altaïr and Malik seemed to have disappeared, at this point. Ezio tried not to think about what the pair of Masters would be doing in the watchtower. "I thought, at the very least, our parting should not be in sorrow."

"I see." Leonardo took the glass from him, with his lopsided smile. "Even in the worst of moments you spare such thought for me."

"You are my best _friend_," Ezio stressed. "It is not unusual."

"You would kiss your other male friends, Ezio? Antonio? _La Volpe_? Bartolomeo?"

Ezio grimaced instantly. Leonardo, thankfully, had the grace not to laugh, drinking instead, his point already made. "I do not want you to keep wanting something you cannot have."

"Ezio, I have had what I wanted for a long time," Leonardo was _licking_ at the rim of the glass, almost obscenely, seemingly unaware that Ezio was staring as though hypnotized at the flick of pink. "I thought that I had misplaced it, but it is clear that I have not."

"I am not," Ezio growled, "Going to kiss you again."

It was a childish thing to say, and Leonardo was clearly hiding his grin behind the glass of wine. "I have heard that before."

III

Ezio was skulking in the fort's walled garden, under a tree, listening distractedly to songbirds. Tiers of carefully trimmed grass swept in broad steps to a broad, concave wall that looked more recent than the ancient balustrades and the babbling brook, which flowed down a pebbled channel to a waterfall and a crystal pool, filled with swirling fish. The veiled women in the garden smiled at him with their eyes as they passed, exotic and beautiful, but he was careful only to offer them polite nods in response. It _was_ rather a pity.

Thinking of women brought his mind back to the problem of Leonardo. Ezio had _known_ that kissing Leonardo would only exacerbate the problem, so it was not as though he had anyone to blame but himself for stringing his friend along on false hopes. Evidently, Leonardo was again convinced that this was only a phase. As much as Ezio preferred Leonardo happy, as he was now, rather than the brittle shell of the past few weeks, it was a false happiness.

It would be too easy to simply continue as he was now at this state. Ezio did not like hurting his friend, even if it was necessary, and he was not sure what to do next. Perhaps his father or Claudia would have input, but he could guess at their answer. His family seemed to have had years to get used to his relationship with Leonardo, and they were likely to side with his friend rather than he.

It wasn't also that Ezio was entirely uncomfortable with Leonardo's attentions, it was more, he told himself, that eventually and inevitably, when his roving eye settled on a girl, his friend would be hurt worse than if things could be sundered now, safely and in a controlled manner.

Ezio spared some thought as to why this world's Ezio had fallen for Leonardo in the first place. His friend was handsome, kind and intelligent, but he was a _man_, and Ezio wasn't sure that the changes in this world could have modified his preferences. Perhaps something momentous had occurred in Firenze. It would, Ezio realized, be a good start to a gentle refusal. Point out that whatever situation had happened would be unlikely to happen again. Surely Leonardo could listen to logic.

A little cheered, Ezio began to turn, to head back to the fort, and then he frowned, his honed senses informing him that there was another, someone _else_ other than the women in the garden. Sight caught the flash of blue just as it darted behind him, and then Ezio straightened warily as he felt the hidden blade against his neck.

"I have met Ezio Auditore before," Altaïr spoke quietly behind him, in perfect Italian, "And you are not he. Who are you?"

-tbc poor Ezio, brain broken by the AlxMal-


	5. Chapter 5

[A/N: It just occurs to me that late!Petruccio does not have as much love in this fic as late!Federico. Will try and amend that eventually. I never did like collecting those damn feathers though. :/ ]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 5

I

"I _am_ Ezio," Ezio said, as steadily as he could. "I just do not remember-"

"I have heard the explanation from Malik, and from your father. It is a poor one." The blade shifted dangerously closer, pressed against his skin. "It is a surprisingly… selective loss of memory. You remember your family, but not the war, when open war is all that the Creed has known for centuries."

"I-"

"And you clearly recognized me… and yet you do not remember having _met_ me. So. Who are you? Are you a Templar, a spy? Yet if so, the Sight does not read true."

Distinctly aware that likely, the only reason why he was not yet dead was because he read _blue_ instead of yellow or red in the ancient sixth sense of the Assassins, Ezio thought fast. "Do you know the Assassin named _La Volpe_?"

"I am aware of him. We have spoken once. He is one of the solitary _Maestri_, those who have no holdings and no affiliations save for the Creed."

"Do you trust him?"

"I know no reason not to."

"Send for him. He will vouch for me." Ezio said quickly, letting out a breath that he was not aware he had held when the blade against his throat eased. "I am aware how this appears to you, _Maestro_. If you wish, I can surrender my weapons."

"No Assassin is harmless even when unarmed," Altaïr said gruffly, though the blade at his throat slipped away. "What is so strange in your story that you need _La Volpe_ to vouch for you?"

It was all too clear how quick Altaïr's mind was: a mind that was capable of grasping Leonardo's schematics, concepts and theories was also more than capable of reading between the lines in his words. "You would not believe me. _Dio mio_, sometimes _I_ wake up and I still do not believe _me_."

"Try."

"Would you like _Maestro_ Al-Sayf to hear this as well?"

"He knows my suspicions. He," Altaïr said, exasperation and fondness both, rather like the bond between his parents; an old one, love tempered by time, "Thinks that it is truly a loss of memory, that I have grown too distrustful of allies because of the _war_. He trusts the Sight."

Ezio noted the stressed word, the hint of old betrayals, ones that ran deep and never healed, and stayed clear of the nerve. "And you are so sure that he will not happen on us now."

"Malik had a long night," Altaïr said, with no inflection whatsoever in his tone. Ezio suppressed a cough; he could guess _exactly_ what Altaïr meant. _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad was a wily one. "So? Speak."

"_La Volpe_ told me that reality runs in a river, that sometimes, or mostly, there are… you could call them parallel streams, that branch away from it, existing but not fully existing."

"You are from one of the 'parallel streams'?" Altaïr sounded skeptical, but at least he was not outright mocking the idea.

"No. I am from the river." Ezio said, wondering if he should turn around and look Altaïr in the eye, or whether a quick movement would merely get him stabbed in the back. "This is one of the streams, the one that most favors the Templar." How could he explain? "I fought Rodrigo Borgia in Roma and lost. He took the Apple from me, and he had the Staff. With those two, and the tomb in Roma, he diverted the river, into a stream that should not be."

"Then why were you sent here? There was an Ezio in this 'stream'."

"I do not know," Ezio said honestly. "_La Volpe_ said that there always had to be a balance. Perhaps that is the reason. I am older than this world's Ezio, stronger: in my time, I am considered a _Maestro_ myself. I have faced Rodrigo twice, and I intend to face him again. It was my weakness that caused this, so I must make it right."

"This 'river'," Altaïr tugged at his arm, forcing him to turn. Dark eyes under the cowl held his stare, unmerciful, "It is better than here?"

"The battle between the Templar and the Assassins is secret. It does not overrun the world. Neither side has that much power."

"And in your world, I am dead." At Ezio's blink, Altaïr laughed, in a harsh bark. "You looked at me as though you were looking at a ghost. A famous, long-dead ghost."

"You are the most famous of the Assassins," Ezio admitted, "But you were dead, centuries dead, by my time. We had some of your journals, your armor. You had the Apple, which I recovered, and lost. I do not understand Arabic, or any of the Orient tongues, or any language other than Italian, because the wars run are so secret, so self-contained, that the Assassin sects see no reason to contact each other."

"In _this_ time," Altaïr was the first to break their stare, looking back at the fort, "_I_ lost the Apple. The Sight failed us; the previous Master of Masyaf betrayed us, used _me_ to retrieve the Apple from its tomb, and then stole it, nearly destroying Masyaf in the process."

"I need the Apple and the Staff to make things right again," Ezio said, carefully. "So if I meet him-"

"If you meet him you will die. Do you not think I have tried? Tried and wasted my men in the attempt." Altaïr interrupted bitterly. "All because I could not kill him when I first had him at my mercy."

"I must try."

"Try! Very well then, if you want to go to your death, I will not stop you. But in the meantime, I will send word to _La Volpe_, 'Ezio'. If I see treachery from you before then, or if _La Volpe_ does not vouch for you," Altaïr patted his own bracer pointedly, "Then I will kill you."

II

Ezio always stared hard at the spring mechanism of his bracers when Leonardo removed stitches, and even in this world, it was a clear source of quiet amusement. Leonardo's shoulders shook as he swabbed at the skin, and he kept having to hide his grin.

"Done," Leonardo said, _finally_, washing his hands, and Ezio sat up from the bed in his room, experimentally. Other than a dull ache, particularly from the wounds received in the last skirmish, Ezio estimated that he was nearly back at full working efficiency, his only souvenir of his battle with Rodrigo (or the unknown skirmish with the Templars) a scar over his belly.

"_Grazie_, Leonardo. What would we do without you?"

"Hah," Leonardo's smile was quick, automatic, an old response to an old question, Ezio sensed. "That would be the question."

The Auditore were clearly honored guests, even if Ezio was under suspicion from Altaïr, and so they were given rooms in the fort, including Leonardo. Ezio was not sure if this was preferable to having one of the sandstone houses. The guest rooms in the fort were square and spartan, the windows barred, and though the beds were comfortable, the room always felt more like a cell than a set of bedchambers.

Still, he supposed that he was used to worse, even when he was in the 'true' world. He wasn't sure if his family was, if Leonardo was, but he supposed that this had to be better than the weeks, months they must have spent in their desperate migration.

"Did they give you a workshop? One with canvas, easels."

Leonardo arched an eyebrow at him, even as the medicine bag was packed up. "I have not had that sort of workshop for a while."

"I will ask for a spare room or space."

"There is no need, Ezio," Leonardo said, with his lopsided smile, "Have you not looked around Masyaf? This is not like the Auditore villa, full of art and things of beauty. This is a fort. The cannon need to be installed on the walls, and the glaives, and I have to cast more pistols for the Masyaf assassins. Sadly, I have no time to paint."

"Teach others to cast pistols and cannon. You need not take everything upon your shoulders." Ezio dressed himself as he spoke, happy to be back in familiar clothes.

"If I do not do it myself, how can I be sure that it is _perfetto_?"

"It does not need to be _perfetto_, it just has to work," Ezio grinned at the look of horror that instantly set up camp on Leonardo's expressive features. "The Leonardo I knew was always involved with an endless number of projects all at once, a procrastinator without compare."

"Once I knew that luxury," Leonardo looked away, picking up the bag and the bowl of soiled water and discarded threads. Ezio caught his arm quickly, before he left the room.

"Things will be right again," Ezio said, with as much determination as he could manage. "I do not like seeing you like this. It feels wrong."

"It is all wrong, and not in a way you seem to be able to fix," Leonardo responded, with his brittle smile. "Do not think I am not aware of what you want to say to me."

"And what do you think I want to say?"

"A repeat of your words on the road, except in stronger terms?" Leonardo's eyes narrowed, dark with pain. "I know! I know you do not want 'us' to be like this. I _tried_. You want me to have my luxuries, yet you deny me even an _inch_ of the part of my life that gave me the most joy. And yet at the same time what I want most is _there_, I can see that the person you are, that the regard you have for me, it has not _changed_. It is just… different. I have what I want and yet I do not. Sometimes I think: this is enough. Sometimes it breaks my heart."

"What do you want me to do? I cannot _lie_ to you. You will know it. And it will hurt you more than the truth."

"I have no solution," Leonardo threw up his hands. "The most vaunted mind in Italia has no solution! So, I work. When I work, I can forget. When I paint, I think, I think _too much_. I do not need a workshop or want one, Ezio. Not _now_."

Ezio watched Leonardo leave, silently, shocked by the vehement outburst, then let out a deep, long sigh and slouched back onto the bed, arms behind his head.

III

Italia, Ezio decided, was more beautiful by far than the Middle East. Masyaf did sit on a lush landscape, even if it was one blasted at portions by the hallmarks of war, but it was a wild, unforgiving land. He perched on the battlements at the top of the watchtower, staring out into the distance.

The Templars had decided to leave them alone for now, perhaps regrouping or hatching other nefarious plans. Behind, on the courtyard, Mario was putting a set of mixed troops through their exercises, his strident voice carrying into the night, even over the orderly staccato of mail boots marching on flagstones. The Masyaf assassins had a different courtyard, higher up within the inner ring of the fort itself, where they trained and tested each other's skills-

"It is a nice evening."

Ezio nearly fell off his perch. "_Maestro _Al-Sayf…! Someday you will have to teach that to me."

"Teach what?" Malik asked, all innocence. Somehow, a one-armed man had scaled the tower up behind him, all without Ezio knowing. "And it is 'Malik', please."

"How to climb like a cat."

"I have learned to compensate, you could say," Malik gestured at his empty sleeve, though he smiled, evidently pleased. "Or you could say also that the quarry I usually try to catch unawares is a difficult target."

_Altaïr_, Ezio surmised. "Will he kill me if I try to hone my skills the same way?"

"He is not known for his patience outside of the hunt," Malik perched on the battlements beside him, lithe and fluid. "As you have no doubt observed two mornings ago."

"How-"

"I have known him for a long time, and so I know all of his tricks," Malik shrugged. "I take it from the fact that you are still alive that you have managed to appease his suspicions."

"Not… entirely."

"You are an honest man," Malik grinned then, "Impulsive, hot-blooded and stubborn. It is no wonder that Altaïr does not like you; you are entirely like him."

Ezio scowled instantly, at the very thought, and Malik laughed, apparently taking his instinctive response as confirmation. "I was told that I have written to _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad before."

"It is difficult to know a person from his letters, particularly formal ones, written with the intent of begging favors and so conscious of rank."

Deciding to change the subject, Ezio asked, "Here, in Masyaf, do missions need to be approved by both yourself and _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad?"

"Yes. It is for the better, after our… previous problems. Such power as we wield should be shared. Your father and your uncle understand that."

"Are there any available?" At Malik's cocked head, Ezio added, with a sigh, "I think I would like to be away from here for a while."

"Friend Ezio, you must understand, by your own words Altaïr does not entirely trust you right now. Until he does, I doubt he will agree to assign you even a novice's task. Though," Malik added, "Admittedly, Altaïr does not trust anyone entirely."

"Except you."

"Except me," Malik agreed. "Al Mualim – the previous _Maestro_ of Masyaf – was like a father to him. His betrayal scarred Altaïr deeply."

Ezio recalled Altaïr's bitterness, in the garden. "_Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad blames himself."

"I know." Malik sighed. "And yet, were you in his shoes, could you so easily put your blade into your father's neck? Altaïr hesitated, and Al Mualim used the moment to escape. He had put much of Masyaf under the sway of the Apple. As he left, he severed the connection, quite abruptly. A number of those under its sway died instantly. Some others went insane, falling on their weapons or jumping from cliffs. We lost more than a quarter of Masyaf that day from that alone. Including Altaïr's wife and children."

"Then this Al Mualim has a lot to answer for," Ezio decided, narrowing his eyes.

"We cannot afford vengeance in these times." Malik said, with a wry smile. "And it is not part of the Creed. You should remember that. You and your sister."

"I understand the Creed," Ezio protested, though Malik's smile did not waver. Irritably, he asked, "_What_?"

"You Italians are a most curious people, beautiful, expressive and volatile."

Ezio was not sure how to respond to _that_, so he mulled it over, staring at the sheer drop down the cliff from the watchtower, the comfortable silence broken by Malik's next question.

"May I ask why you wish to leave Masyaf?"

"Not permanently. This is a good place, and I thank you for your-"

"You can tell me, Ezio. I promise I will not be offended."

"I… well, I am having a disagreement with Leonardo, and I think he needs a little space," Ezio hedged.

"There is a disagreement? I had not observed," Malik said, amused again. "Are you aware that he follows you around when he has time?"

"Very much so." Ezio frowned. It was yet another thing he would have to talk to Leonardo about. "It is a little difficult to explain…"

"There are only a set number of permutations of love," Malik noted. "He is in love with you, but you do not return it?" At Ezio's blink, Malik explained, "Your body language told me as much, on the roof."

"Ah…" Ezio flushed. He had seen _other_ things, besides that. "Leonardo was the one who pointed you out to me. It is not as though I sat there to-"

"Altaïr happened on me as I was wondering whether or not to intervene, but you did not look as though you were going to hurt him, so I decided to assuage Altaïr's jealousy instead," Malik said blandly.

Ezio did not want any more reminders of what Malik defined as assuaging. "I would never raise a hand against Leonardo." Altaïr was jealous? Well. That was something to remember, for survival if nothing else.

"This situation seems entirely familiar," Malik grinned, as if at a private joke. "You are very much like him."

"Pray do not repeat that sentiment in front of the _Maestro_."

"I already have. He reacted the way you did."

A sudden thought occurred to Ezio. "If he tries to kill me because you are talking to me, alone, I hope you are able to stop him."

"Altaïr is in the smithy with Leonardo. Your friend is a very… unique man." Malik was watching him closely, and so Ezio pointedly schooled his face to remain impassive. "Perhaps we could assist you with your problem."

"How so?"

"Altaïr and I have been a pair for a long time. Sometimes the addition of another element in the interests of novelty-"

"Leonardo does not deserve to be some sort of temporary _amusement_," Ezio growled.

"Good! Those are fighting words." Malik said, tapping at his chin. "Are you sure that you are only his friend?"

"Are you trying to provoke me?"

"And why would I want to do so? Rest assured, if Leonardo becomes involved, it will only be with the utmost disclosure."

"Is this your idea, or _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad's?"

"It would have to be both. Decisions are made jointly."

"Why even talk to me about this?" Ezio couldn't keep the edge from his tone even if he tried.

"I need to make certain before I raise the matter with Altaïr. If Leonardo is yours in the true sense of the word then it would be grossly remiss – and dishonorable - of us to interfere. But if he is not…"

Ezio bit down on his tongue to still his instinctive response, thinking hard. Leonardo was a grown man, but at present, he was still vulnerable, lonely. Still, neither Malik or Altaïr struck him as dishonorable men, and Leonardo did seem to get along comfortably with Altaïr. And if it could help take Leonardo's mind off his pain…

"Full disclosure?"

"My word on it."

"I do not want him to think that he has to do this for the Auditore."

"Of course _not_." Malik looked a little appalled. "You have as suspicious a mind as Altaïr, friend Ezio. He will have to understand _that_ to our satisfaction as well, of that you also have my word."

Ezio sighed. He could think of nothing else, and this did seem like a good – if temporary – measure. Besides, he was fairly sure that he liked Malik, at the least. "If it can make him happy, I will not interfere."

"But you will not approve either way, I see."

"I think," Ezio said, looking hard at Malik, "That Leonardo deserves better."

"You mean, _yourself_?" Malik's smile was sharp. An uncompromising man under it all, Ezio observed, just as principled as his father or Mario, his steel firmly in place like all the Assassin _Maestri_.

"No! _Better._ Someone who can give him what he wants. Someone who can make him _happy_."

"I think, friend Ezio," Malik slipped down from his perch, with a sidelong, unreadable glance, "That you know who that 'someone' is better than I."

-tbc-


	6. Chapter 6

[A/N: Happy new year, kittens.

I'm not sure where I got into the habit of using just one POV for the whole of a fic, because it is a little cramp (how am I supposed to write any long Al/Malik, for example?). I guess I don't like breaking precedent. ;3]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 6

I

"I did not want to get any others from this timestream involved," _La Volpe_ said irritably, once they were alone in a study room that Altaïr had locked behind them. _La Volpe_ had appeared in Masyaf within a week of the summons, close-lipped and clearly exasperated, and had summoned only Altaïr and Ezio to a meeting, much to the likely astonishment of the rest.

"I had no choice," Ezio slouched onto a set of cushions, on the floor. Altaïr was staring out of the window, arms crossed behind his back.

"How many have found out, other than the _Maestro_?"

"Uh… Leonardo eavesdropped on us, that time. He knows as well. And no doubt any number of people have their ears pressed up against the door, right now," Ezio added dryly. Curiosity was an assassin trait.

"I have sealed the room. They will hear nothing," _La Volpe_ walked in a tight circle, clearly stressed. "I suppose I should have told you from the beginning to keep it to yourself. I was remiss."

"I had to make sure," Altaïr retorted, without turning around.

"He reads blue, does he not?"

"So did Al Mualim, for a time."

"What does it matter that _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad knows?" Ezio cut in, as _La Volpe_ bristled, before the two _Maestri_ began an argument. "All the better."

"I have lived through similar situations before. It is for the best that no one native to the tangent reality knows. Often, it merely leads to unforeseen problems. _Particularly_ when the person has time to think about the import of his existence."

"I was informed that in truth I am already dead," Altaïr said dismissively.

"Oh, you were, were you?" _La Volpe_'s violet eyes swung towards Ezio, all menace. "And you did not bear _any_ sort of thought to the consequences of such a revelation?"

"The _Maestro_ deduced it from my reaction to him," Ezio said, knowing it was a poor excuse as he did so. "_Mi dispiace_…"

"It is of no consequence. I am alive _now_," Altaïr pointed out, "And whether I am dead someplace else or not is none of my concern."

"It is," _La Volpe_ said darkly. "How many of the people you know in Masyaf should be dead along with you?"

"When the river shifts, this is a tangent. It will continue to exist, no matter what happens."

"I will endeavor to explain this in small words," _La Volpe_ growled. "Reality is thin outside of the river. This place is 'real' in all terms of the word only because of the diversion, and this tangent cannot bear the full surge, _alongside_ the weight of the true Apple and Staff, without fracturing. It is possible to mend matters, but most likely, it _will_ fracture."

"Fracture?" Ezio echoed, horrified.

"It has already begun to do so. Pray to whatever God you follow that we are in control of the true Apple and Staff when it does, that we can stitch the river back to its true channel, or reality will splinter further, wildly, into the other tangents, and fracture further, until there is nothing left. Understand?"

"This world will end?" Altaïr blinked. "Why would Rodrigo Borgia come here, then?"

"Because he is a fool, because he thinks he has done what every Templar has tried to do once they divined the purpose of the Pieces! The catalyst he used, the tomb that awoke, the ones that were used it to prune the tangent realities, like one takes care of a shrub. It is used to keep the balance. The river sustains the tangents, and they feed it… you could say that in return, they provide it with _possibilities_, with change, with _meaning_. They are not meant to be 'real' in any sense of the word. This world is not meant to be. The Pieces _must_ be used _only_ to keep the balance."

"How much time do we have?" Ezio asked then, trying his best to assimilate the information. His Assassin's mind informed him that the details were clear, and the rest of _La Volpe's_ words were irrelevant – retrieve the Apple and the Staff, perhaps in the presence of the tomb, within a time limit.

"A year. We have a year, at best, less if Rodrigo uses the Apple or the Staff in a drastic way. He has already done so once, to destroy Monteriggioni."

"That was the 'true' Rodrigo? But I only awoke on the journey," Ezio said, startled. "Much later."

_La Volpe _glared at him, then at Altaïr's questioning arch of an eyebrow, and then he muttered to himself in another language, complex and ancient, ending with something that sounded like 'small words, small words'. "Do you really want an explanation?"

"I would appreciate one."

"You cannot exist here at the same time as your tangent self. Rodrigo forced himself here, merged his selves via the use of the Pieces. You, Ezio, you I had not intended to use."

"Then?"

"So this reality's Ezio died along with his brothers, that is what you are saying," Altaïr deduced. "Somehow, you must have made a switch at that point."

"Very good! I have always liked _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad, in all of the realities. The words do not have to be quite so small." _La Volpe_ clapped his hands briefly, the sound heavy and sharp in the silence of the room. "Of course, you were bleeding to death in true time, and this world's Ezio was dead from poison from far more grievous wounds, _and _he was younger than you, with slightly different scars. A little work for the purposes of verisimilitude was in order. I have to admit I am rather proud of it. One cannot fault _La Volpe_ with a lack of attention to detail."

"Who _are_ you?" Ezio asked, awed. "How do you have so much power?"

"You have a Piece?" Altaïr guessed, and narrowed his eyes. "You have never said."

"I do not _have_ any of the Pieces. They are not mine to use. And who I am is a story for another day," _La Volpe_ said dismissively.

"I think it is an important 'story'," Altaïr retorted. "I need to know who I can trust."

"I am a servant of the Creed, but also of the balance," _La Volpe_ said, with a glare. "Sometimes in keeping the latter, I am provided with a little more leeway. Usually, I am merely a very old man who knows a handful of simple tricks. That is all you need to know."

"What is this 'balance'?"

"Surely there is a limit to your damnable curiosity? What is important is the Apple, and the Staff. I had been occupied in my attempts to find a way to the latter when I received a rather trite communication summoning me here." _La Volpe_ did not quite scowl at Altaïr, though his lined brow furrowed further. "I trust I may now return to my work without you murdering the fruit of my efforts?"

Altaïr ignored the jibe. "I know where the Apple is. I have tried to reacquire it before."

"Try _harder_," _La Volpe_ said, ruthless. "We are running out of time."

"Even if I were to throw all of Masyaf at it, it will mean little," Altaïr retorted, not backing down in the least. "And forgive me, but your story is a fantastical one, difficult to believe. I will not sacrifice any men without proof."

"The Sight," _La Volpe_ replied, exasperated, tapping under one of his violet eyes. "Use it. Look very closely at your world."

Altaïr shut his eyes, and Ezio did the same. The second world seemed… fine to him, the furniture dark, Altaïr and _La Volpe_ bright figures of blue.

"I do not see-"

"Look _closely_." _La Volpe_ tapped at the dark outline of a table, and when his finger came away, it trailed a faint sparkle of white, like dust. "Slowly, surely, everything will come apart."

II

"Were you left out?" Claudia asked, as Ezio strolled out into the assassins' training courtyard. Her cowl covered her eyes, and she looked as though she had recently been training. The training master had grudgingly agreed to teach Claudia, under Malik's instruction, and she had been improving.

"Left out of what? I am not a _Maestro_." Altaïr had invited the other _Maestri_ into the study, and had, much to Ezio's irritation, pointedly all but kicked him out of the conference.

"You are as good as any of them," Claudia said loyally, and then added, as an afterthought, "Well. Perhaps not Father."

"_Grazie_, sister," Ezio said dryly. He could not help but glance back and up, at the shuttered windows of the study, and wondered what _La Volpe_ or Altaïr could have come up with, to explain the private conference. Hopefully one or the other would have the _kindness_ to _inform_ him on the details of the story before Malik asked any leading questions.

"What do you think they are discussing?"

"How should I know?" Ezio gestured for Claudia to follow him, away from the multitude of openly prying ears, through into the fort. "I think _La Volpe_ has news about the Pieces. I think he is trying to convince the _Maestri_ to retrieve the Apple."

"And why call only you and _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad privately to an audience?" Claudia would shape into a fine assassin, Ezio decided. When _La Volpe_ had arrived, she had for all appearances been training hard in the courtyard.

"That is confidential for now, I am afraid," Ezio said evasively.

"Just so you remember, we answer to father and uncle," Claudia pointed out neutrally, though her eyes were searching under the cowl. "Not to the others."

"I _remember_. It was not that."

"Then?"

"I said it was _confidential_, Claudia."

"Secrets, secrets! _Va bene_," Claudia growled, clearly displeased, but deciding to leave it alone for now. "Speaking of secrets, do you not think that the _Maestri_ of Masyaf are entirely too comfortable with Leonardo? They touch him, his hands, back, shoulder, _almost_ innocent, but lingering. I do not know if Leonardo is aware of it: you know how he is when he is concentrating."

Ezio's stomach turned. "I know. Malik spoke to me first."

"And you _allow_ it?" Claudia asked, incredulous. "You, who once threatened to cut off a man's hand for resting 'too long' on Leonardo's wrist?"

"Leonardo and I are having a little time apart," Ezio began, and glared as Claudia began to drag him towards their living quarters. "_Claudia_."

She would not speak until they were alone in her room, the door closed behind her, then she turned upon him, her eyes angry. "Did _they_ cut some deal with you for our safety? Because I will have _none_ of it."

"_No_," Ezio said. "Upon my word, no. Malik gave me his that they would not… involve themselves with Leonardo until he, too, understood that he was not doing this for our sakes."

"And you _approve_?"

"I do not approve! But Leonardo needs a few options. He needs something other than work. So I said I will not interfere."

"Something other than you?"

"Some_one_ other than me!"

"I cannot _believe_ this," Claudia snapped her fingers before his eyes. "Were you brain damaged along with the loss of your memory? Are you Ezio? You _truly_ do not remember Leonardo?"

Mindful of _La Volpe's_ insistence that no other people were to know of the true reason he was in this reality, Ezio growled, "I _do_ remember Leonardo. I just do not remember ever being… _with_ Leonardo. If he is destroying himself with the… with the _wanting_, I would rather that he had other options!"

"My brother is a _cretino_!" Claudia was shouting now, firmly ensconced in one of her tirades, and Ezio hoped that the living quarters were empty as they usually were at this time of day. "What happens when you remember? What happens if he has moved on?"

"If he is happy then I will be happy," Ezio said resolutely, holding up his hands. "Claudia, please, _calm down_."

"I do not want to be calm! I want everything to be _normal_ again," Claudia sniffed loudly, tears welling up in her eyes, "It is not _fair_. We are finally in Masyaf and still nothing is nearly _right_."

"Claudia, Claudia," Ezio _hated_ seeing his sister cry, folding her into a tight embrace and stroking her hair. "It will be."

"In Firenze, in Monteriggioni, and then on the road, you have said that to me. It will never be right, will it?"

"It will take time." Ezio lied, as soothingly as he could. "It will take time."

"If you believe that, then how can you allow-"

"Whether or not something happens is up to Leonardo." Ezio pointed out.

"He will be expecting you to object."

"Perhaps."

"You are stubborn… you have always been stubborn!" Claudia pulled herself out of his arms, wiping hard at her eyes. "We have lost so much already, when must it stop?"

"When we retrieve the Apple-"

"Always, the missions! Always, the war," Claudia jerked open the door with rather more strength than it deserved. "You may be standing aside, but _I_ will not be."

"Claudia…!" Ignoring him, his sister had already stormed out of the living quarters, in a fine sense of high dudgeon. Ezio groaned. If Claudia was exactly the same as the Claudia he knew, she would be simmering, and any attempt on his part to talk things over would only feed the flames, up until he did what she wanted. Usually, the path of least effort involved caving to his sister's will. In this case, however, it was impossible.

He could only hope that by the time the _Maestri_ finished with their meetings, Claudia's fury would have ebbed.

III

_La Volpe_ left as abruptly as he had arrived, on the very same day, despite Malik's attempts to offer him hospitality. Watching him leave on a fast horse through the city gates, Mario nodded at the _Maestri_, ambling back down to the main courtyard, while Malik and Altaïr returned to the fort. Ezio flinched when his father abruptly rested a hand over his shoulder.

"I trust there were not too many difficult questions."

"Questions?"

"_Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad has apologized for his suspicions. He said that he had met you before, and your loss of memory disconcerted him. _La Volpe_ was passing through to provide information, as well as a neutral second opinion." Giovanni's smile was quick, playful, "I hear that you pass."

"The previous _Maestro_ of Masyaf created much chaos. If I were in his position, I too would have done the same."

"Good. You are maturing." Giovanni squeezed his shoulder briefly, as though in approval. "Before the chaos, Masyaf preserved Bureaus in the cities that they did not hold, from which would issue the final assent to an Assassin's mission, a 'white feather'. Since we are here, we will follow their custom. There is a map, visible only by your Sight, in _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad's study, which will show you where the Bureaus are."

"A mission?" Ezio tried to keep the relief from his voice.

"Escaping your problems is often the worst method of addressing them," Giovanni observed, his hand falling away. "Still, yes, there is a mission, in Acre. Your mark will be heavily guarded. You will have almost no support, particularly since you still do not yet remember how to speak the language. The _Rafiq_ in Acre is a scholar, so he can speak Italian, at least."

"I have always enjoyed a challenge."

Giovanni handed him a letter, sealed with the crest of the Auditore. "As always, within it is the name. You do recall that you must use the Sight?"

"Of course, father." Ezio said, though he did not, switching to the Sight. Under the greys of the world, the name in the letter, under the seal, burned bright in silver. It was not one that he recognized. "This is not Al-"

"There are many stages in fighting a war. You cannot head immediately through to the general without risking disaster. First we must sow a little chaos. You will not be the only Assassin out on a mission." Giovanni said, looking down towards at the inner Gate. "You will have to brush up on your Arabic if you want to be assigned more difficult tasks."

Ezio bit down on his instinctive protest that he could not possibly learn a foreign language within _weeks_, let alone the year they likely had left. "I understand, father."

"Your previous teacher was Leonardo. Perhaps you should try approaching him again."

"Leonardo is busy." Ezio said, a little too quickly.

"Who else can speak both languages? Only the _Maestri_, and we too will be busy. _Maestro_ Al-Sayf is coordinating strategies and field intelligence, as well as shouldering as much as the actual management of Masyaf as possible. Mario will be training the troops, as well as the Masyaf assassins. _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad himself will be undertaking a mission, as will I."

"_You_?"

"_Si_, my son. I cannot of good conscience send out men into enemy territory when I am not willing to go myself. And it is not as though I had ever retired."

"But," Ezio said, instantly worried, yet wanting to skirt around his father's pride, "Perhaps it would be better for you to be here, to lead. I can take your mission after I complete mine."

"You do not remember how to speak Arabic, my son. Even if I were willing to do so, you could not." Giovanni's smile was playful, even as Ezio struggled to hide his instinctive fear. A memory of the thrum of the hangman's rope twanging firm, the sick _snap_ of his father's neck, crawled across his mind. He did _not_ want to lose his father again; he could _not_. "Apply yourself to your studies. Until you do, you can only be assigned to Acre."

"Or I could go with you." Ezio said earnestly. "_Per favore_, Father."

"Assassins like us – and _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad – work best when solitary. God's blessing on your mission, Ezio," Giovanni turned to head back up into the fort, "And if I catch you sneaking after me, _dio mio_, I do not care how old you are now, I will take my belt to your hide."

Ezio stared after his father, his fists curling at his side, wondering if he could – if he _should_ – appeal to Malik, to Mario. Giovanni was not a young man: he and Mario were older than this world's Malik and Altaïr. Still, even if he could convince them both to veto the mission, his father would not understand his motives. Ezio also knew that even if the mission was vetoed, it was quite likely that Giovanni would leave to perform it anyway.

He had to learn at least basic spoken Arabic, and quickly. Reluctantly, Ezio set himself to approach the smithy, his footsteps feeling leaden, tucking his letter away into his surcoat. He would mention something to Leonardo before he left, at the least.

The smithy was silent today, its bellows still. Curious, Ezio slipped past the rows of cannon moulds and pistol casts, the giant, darkened furnace, the workroom with its sheaves of schematics, towards the back room where Leonardo apparently took his (few and far between) breaks. The door was ajar, and Ezio could hear voices, Leonardo's and Altaïr's, speaking quietly in Arabic.

Wondering whether or not to interrupt, Ezio froze when he heard Leonardo laugh, soft and bright, with nothing of his pain, and then the sounds of a kiss, loud and damning in the silence. Ezio grit his teeth, exhaling silently, and left as quietly as he could, uncomfortable in his instinctive disquiet and dimly surprised at his selfishness.

By all his words and any measure of common decency, he should be happy for his friend, and yet… he was not.

-tbc: Readers of any of Michael Moorcock's books would probably understand the references to the balance. I have always liked the concept, but I will not be discussing it further in this story I think: check wiki if you are curious. I recommend his Elric series (if you like dark fantasy). Concept about the purpose of tangent realities is inspired from Neil Gaiman's Books of Magic (Prequel, 1-4), also highly recommended.-


	7. Chapter 7

[A/N: People who played AC1 probably recall how monotonous the prep for the missions were, so I'm skipping all that. You guys can probably conjecture, anyway.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 7

I

The _rafiq_ of Acre was an elderly man, sallow-cheeked and bald, his wrinkled skin marred by liver spots, looking shrunken in his voluminous white robes, and the Bureau was a shabby house sequestered in a set of cramped piles of rubble that seemed to pass as housing in the poor district of Acre. Entrance could only be made through a series of trapped tunnels accessible through hidden shafts that led into the aqueduct. The _rafiq_ had apologized perfunctorily for the trouble: it seemed that what with the betrayal of the previous _Maestro_ of Masyaf, the Bureaus had to be drastically re-designed and moved.

At present, the _rafiq_ was teaching Ezio Arabic with an old man's unhurried patience, as they waited for the alarm to die down. When they took a break, Ezio watched the _rafiq_ draft a terse message for the pigeon.

"Could you also ask after my father?" The _rafiq_ had informed Ezio that he might have to wait a couple of days before the alert slackened enough for him to leave easily. At the _rafiq's_ questioning glance, Ezio added, a little embarrassed, "He is undertaking a mission, himself. I am a little worried."

He had tried appealing to his mother as a last resort, before he had left, but Maria Auditore had only said, very calmly, _had my opinion mattered even a little, in the matters of the Creed, your father would have retired a long time ago_.

"You are a good son," the _rafiq_ decided, adding another line in the special ink of the Assassins to the tiny scroll. "A long time ago, the assassins of Masyaf, too, were trained within their bloodlines. But it was decided that familial loyalty often carried the risk of interfering with loyalty to the Creed, and so promising children are taken from their mothers in their youth, trained together in a crèche, and know only their blood brothers, their numerous _rafiq_, their various _dai_."

"I am glad that our ways are different, then." Ezio could not imagine a childhood… _life_ itself, without his family, even the broken remnants he had in his reality, fatherless and brotherless.

"Are you? Concern about your father, that must have been the distraction I sensed when you introduced yourself to me."

"The job is done, is it not?" Ezio could not keep the irritation from his tone even if he tried.

"Hah!" the _rafiq_ laughed the toothless, wheezing laugh of the elderly. "You are so much like-"

"_Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad, I have been told." Ezio scowled as the _rafiq_ merely grinned. Instinct and training told him that he should wait, but all of the rest of him wanted to brave the patrols and the lockdown at the gates.

"Your father's name is known even in Masyaf. Do not worry! Allah provides, or perhaps your God will. If he dies, then it will be God's will."

"If that was meant to be comforting, it was not."

"Everyone dies eventually. Once you are born, you begin to die."

"That was not comforting either!"

"It is the way of the Creed," the _rafiq_ shrugged, rocking back on the cushions and philosophically refilling their teacups from a black iron kettle. "Usually our deaths are violent but quick."

"_Old man, are you trying to provoke me?_"

II

"_Ana_," Leonardo pointed at himself. "_Anta_." He pointed at Ezio.

" 'I'," Ezio translated, after a brief mental review of his crash course with Acre's _rafiq_. " 'You', male singular."

They sat in one of the study rooms, on cushions before a low table full of Ezio's notes, and it was only discipline that was keeping Ezio patient. Despite his… difficulties with Leonardo, Giovanni's safety took precedence. His father had completed his mission and had returned, laughing off his concerns, but Ezio could not be sure that Giovanni would be so lucky the next time. If Ezio could be assigned to cities other than Acre, perhaps his father could…

"_Kayf al Haluk_," Leonardo looked good, at least. His eyes seemed less pinched at the sides, and he was smiling – though that was also likely just amusement at Ezio's terrible pronunciation. Certainly Altaïr had outright forbidden Ezio to speak Arabic in his presence, when Ezio had attempted a halting greeting before his debriefing.

" 'How are you'."

"And if you are speaking to Claudia?"

"_Kayf al Halek_."

"The numbers, one to ten."

"_Wahid, ethnan, tha…_er,_ thalatheh, arbah-_"

"_Arba'ah._"

"_Khamsah, settah, saba'ah, thmaniah, tiss'ah, ash'rah_."

"_Na'am, la_."

" 'Yes', 'no'."

"A greeting?"

"_Assalam aleikom._"

"_Safiya dafiya! _You learn very quickly." Leonardo said cheerfully. "Perhaps this will not be as difficult an undertaking as you believe."

"How long did I take, the last time?"

"Ah…" Leonardo tilted his head thoughtfully. "I think, a year for conversational, two years for technical, though you could not read or write."

"And how long did _you_ take?"

"A year."

"A year too?"

"A year for everything," Leonardo grinned, as Ezio looked impressed. "But I had a lot more time to apply myself to my studies than you did."

"That has nothing to do with it. You are a genius. Even if I had a year to do nothing but study I would not be as good at the language as you."

"Arabic is a difficult tongue, rivaled only by the tongues of the Orient. Your uncle cannot read or write either, but your father can." Such comfortable conversation calmed Ezio instinctively. They were what he was used to… less the often incomprehensible tangents as Leonardo described his latest objects of interest.

"_Ana mut asif_, but I have created even more work for you."

"Hardly. The _insegnante_ often learns as much as the student. What is 'good morning'?"

"_Sabah al-kheir_. I rather doubt it. And besides, you have taught me before."

"And 'good evening'? Oh no, there is something new to learn each time." Leonardo had his elbows on the table, his palms on his cheeks, his entire posture relaxed, contented.

"Uh… _masah_… no, _masaa' al-kheir_. Oh? And what is there to learn?"

"Methodology, Ezio. People are often patterned the same, I think. As such, even the method of learning languages, _even_ wildly different languages, is similar."

"Or is it just that the teacher is the same, so the method is the same?" Ezio teased.

"You had the benefit of the _rafiq_ at Acre for a couple of days," Leonardo countered, "What did he start you on? Or did you learn all the greetings and numbers by listening to them on the street?"

Leonardo had a point there. "What next, _grand'insegnante_?"

"Practice. The best _insegnante_ is practice."

"Since I can only be assigned to Acre, I suppose I have little else to do," Ezio sighed. Even Malik had been unassailable on that point, though at least the _Maestro_ had been kind enough not to make _too_ many comments about Ezio's pronunciation. "I do not like to ask this of you, but whenever you are free…"

"Daily lessons? I can be free. Perhaps in the evening." Leonardo was clearly trying his best not to seem _too_ eager, but was failing, even leaning forward a little on the table.

The lesson so far had been the longest normal conversation that Ezio had with Leonardo that did not involve medical care, after all. Ezio wished that someone _else_ could be free: he had asked Malik, even, citing his problem, but the _Maestro_ had advised him that all the scholar _rafiq_ were occupied, and that it was best that he troubled his usual teacher if he wanted to learn the language in Masyaf.

At least three times since the beginning of the lesson, Ezio had wanted to ask Leonardo about Altaïr, about Malik, but had held his tongue. He did not want to know. He did not _need_ to know, and Leonardo looked better, in any case.

"I should ask Claudia to sit in during these 'classes'," Ezio mused aloud. "Sooner or later, if she truly wishes to be assignable, she would have to be able to speak Arabic as well."

Leonardo looked visibly disappointed for a moment. "Ah… er, if she wishes to, she is more than welcome."

"Why, would you not want to teach Claudia?"

"No, no. She is welcome. I, ah, I just hope she does not become too frustrated. It is a difficult language."

Ezio supposed that was a logical reason: his sister did have little patience. Even if his gut instinct told him that Leonardo was not telling him the entire truth, Ezio decided that if there was any actual conflict, they could always leave Claudia out of the next lesson. "I will ask her later, then."

"Or I could give her separate lessons," Leonardo suggested, his hands folding tightly over his arms, the knuckles even whitening in anxiety, "She is not at your level and may need a little more coaching."

Leonardo, Ezio realized abruptly, desperately wanted the lessons with him to be _private_, for now-obvious reasons. Perhaps even his current good mood could be put down to Ezio's request for lessons, rather than any recent developments with the Masyaf _Maestri_. Ezio did not want to entertain that thought, even though again, the selfish, egotistical part of him was gratified by the attention.

Hastily, he had to disagree. "I am only three days ahead of her in lessons. And a man and an unmarried woman alone in a room? You know how these people will feel about that. Besides, I doubt even my uncle will be comfortable."

"He can come for her lessons, then, or an appropriate chaperone."

Outmaneuvered, Ezio hesitated, trying to think. Retreat seemed to be the best move, right now, until he could come up with a better reason. "Uh… let me ask Claudia first." He would have to get to Claudia before Leonardo. "After this, if you could, I need you to talk to _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad. Try to convince him that I can be ready for general missions say, within a month."

"Me? Why?" Leonardo was nipping at his lower lip, intelligent enough to see a feint when it was coming.

"He seems to like you a lot more than he likes me."

Leonardo actually _blushed_. "No, I do not… I think you are mistaken there."

_He kissed you_, Ezio wanted to point out, but he held his tongue. "Well, if you could at least try, I would appreciate it. I do not want my father being sent on missions, but I would settle for him being sent on _fewer_ missions."

"I will try," Leonardo said doubtfully.

Ezio chalked down the minor victory with relief. "I think that was enough of a diversion. Could we continue with the lesson, _insegnante_?"

III

On hindsight, he should have foreseen that Claudia would be difficult. And it had gone so well at the start, too.

"That makes sense," Claudia had allowed, when Ezio had asked her to join the lessons. "Especially in the light of your current difficulty."

"You are free in the evenings?"

"I can be," Claudia looked tired. She had been pushing herself, it seemed. They were in his room, and she was sprawled on a chair, boneless. "It is good that you are having these lessons. After all, you told me that they were how you had first fallen for him."

Something of his shock must have registered on his face before he could hide it: Claudia grinned, smug. "Perhaps history would repeat itself?"

That explained Leonardo's anxiety. "There is no need for history to repeat itself. Before I left for Acre, I overhead Leonardo and _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad, in the smithy."

"You did?" Claudia's eyes narrowed. "So _that_ was where Leonardo was! And I had been trying to keep an eye on him as well. _Porca-_"

"_Claudia_."

"I can swear if I want to," Claudia retorted, with a glare. "It seems I must redouble my efforts."

Ezio pinched at the bridge of his nose, asking God for patience. "There is no need to. He seems happy, so, let us leave it be."

"_Happy_? When he spent just about all of his time outside of the smithy or the workroom within it milling around the battlements, waiting for word of your return? A day after the bird arrived with news of your success, he was all but _camping_ there."

Guiltily, Ezio remembered that after his return, he had first headed directly to the fort to make his report, and then had checked on his family. His next contact with Leonardo had been to ask him for lessons, for a favor. "Can you not see that what he does is not _healthy_?"

"Why? Mother does the same for Father."

"Mother and Father are _married_."

"You and Leonardo might as well have been, the way the both of you used to carry on."

Ezio sighed. "The important words there are '_used to_', Claudia. In the smithy, he sounded happy enough, so we will _leave it be_."

Claudia huffed. "_Va bene. _I am going to confront Leonardo-"

"_No_." Ezio changed tack. "He is your friend too. Do you not want him to be content?"

"Of _course_," Claudia snapped. "Short of drugging you and leaving you in his bed I am doing my best."

Ezio clapped a hand over his eyes and tried to ignore the sudden impulse to closely inspect his food and drink for all of the near future. Claudia had inherited the Auditore streak of pure stubbornness. "Leonardo is under a lot of stress. I hope you will not add to it."

"_Bene_, though I am not the one blithely rostering new students on his behalf. One would almost think that you did not want to be… alone… with Leonardo…" Claudia trailed off, as Ezio mentally swore. "I _see_."

"Sister-"

"Look me in the eyes and swear on our family's name that it is not your intention."

"I _do_ think you should learn-"

"Oh, and other than that?"

"Fine!" Ezio snarled. "Other than that, you are right!"

"Well," Claudia said sweetly, "In exchange for not speaking to Leonardo about the smithy, how about you attend your lessons, by _yourself_?"

"Are you trying to blackmail me?"

"No, I am offering you a _trade_."

"Or?"

"Or I think I may have to speak to Mother."

Now _that_ was a very real threat. Maria had offered no voiced judgment or opinion on his current situation with Leonardo, and Ezio wanted to keep it that way. "That is a child's threat, and you know it."

Claudia was not shamed in the least. "And?"

Ezio supposed it was not as though anything would happen. For the rest of the lesson, Leonardo had treated him like a skittish animal, with no sudden moves, and no more verbal surprises. "And do not intervene either, with the _Maestri_ and Leonardo."

"No deal," Claudia said flatly, "Look at it from my point of view, brother. To me, it looks as though the _Maestri_ are taking advantage of your loss of memory. I do not care who they are, I will _not_ allow it! You, Federico, even _Petruccio_, you have all protected me for the whole of your lives. I cannot do any less."

"No deal then!" Ezio growled, losing his patience. "_Look_, Claudia. I overheard Leonardo _kissing_ the _Maestro_ in the _smithy_ and he is happier, you can see it in his face! That is enough for me and it should be for you!"

"_Enough for me? _Brother, you are a _cretino_ of a-" Both Claudia and Ezio jumped as the door swung unceremoniously open, Claudia's right hand going to the dagger at her hip and Ezio's to his sword.

Leonardo stood in the doorway, his shoulders hunched, his cheeks flushed and his eyes angry, and at that point, Ezio would have preferred to handle Templar invaders, even Rodrigo himself.

"Leonardo-"

It was easy to forget that Leonardo was at least as strong as he was, particularly when, outside of the road, his friend still favored long, voluminous sleeves that hid his arms. Leonardo had him pinned against the wall, wrists above his head, and while Ezio was busy suppressing his trained instinct to put his knee to his stomach and incapacitate an apparent attacker for the sake of not injuring his friend, he was kissed, forcefully and confidently, a tongue snaking down his throat as his lips parted in shock.

Vaguely, he was aware of Claudia laughing and leaving, of her closing the door behind her, and felt instantly irritated at her presumption, squirming against Leonardo and trying to jerk his wrists out of the vice-like grip without accidentally using either of his hidden blades. Leonardo, however, only moaned, deep in his throat, and pressed closer, the thumb of his spare hand stroking Ezio's cheek, grinding against him even as he froze in place.

He was breathless and gasping when Leonardo finally pulled back. "Let go of my h…!" Another kiss, then another, silenced his protests, and it was only after the fourth that Ezio remembered to clamp his teeth shut. _Hell_, where had Leonardo learned how to _kiss_ like this? Much to his embarrassment, due to the long drought in instances of 'comfort and succor' since he had left for Roma, his body was beginning to stir, and judging from Leonardo's lazy smile, his friend could feel it.

"I think that I am tired of waiting," Leonardo announced, as if to the world around him.

"Really? I could not guess." Ezio grit his teeth, trying his best to glare. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lips swollen, Leonardo was damnably _beautiful_, and Ezio had to keep jerking his own gaze away from his friend's sensuously reddened mouth. "_Let me go_. I do not want to hurt you."

"You have never hurt me. Not physically, anyway," Leonardo amended, licking at Ezio's neck and chuckling as he bit down on a hiss of pleasure. Leonardo was evidently highly experienced with his body, his teeth and tongue locating the tender spot beneath his collar with ease and chuckling again as Ezio arched instinctively into his mouth. "Oh _Ezio_. You have no idea how much I _want_ you, right now."

Ezio _definitely_ had a _very_ clear idea: there was a hot, hard brand, pressed against his thigh, which he was trying his best not to think about in detail. "I think we should discuss-"

"Discuss? What is there to discuss?" A tongue pressed against the hollow under the shell of his ear, and then flicked behind it, to his gasp. "I want you in my mouth, on your bed, deep in my throat, so deep that my jaws ache for the taking; I want you within me, on my back, on my knees, against the wall, until anyone who sees me walk tomorrow will observe your work… I want you to fill me with your seed, bruise my hips with your fingers and mark my neck with your teeth, show the world that I am _yours_."

Leonardo had far too masterful a grasp on words even when he was giving voice to filth that was worthy of any courtesan, Ezio felt, light-headed with coaxed lust. He said the first thing on his mind. "I heard you with the _Maestro_."

"And because of that you think that I have stopped loving you?"

"Then why _did_ you kiss him?"

"_He_ kissed _me_," Leonardo corrected, tracing the contours of his ear with the tip of a clever tongue. "And had I known what you would conclude of it I would not have let him touch me."

"Still-"

"He is so much like you, even the way he moves, the way he smiles, and it has been so long since the last, and I was weak," Leonardo insisted, facing him again, his eyes feverishly intense. "It will not happen again."

That was _not_ what Ezio wanted. "The _Maestri_ are both honorable men."

"_Si_, honorable men, and _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad is very much like you, but he is _not_ you." Leonardo kissed his eyes, feather-light, his lips soft, almost like a woman's.

Reluctantly, Ezio resorted to threats. "If you want me to keep going for the lessons, release my hands."

"Who else can teach you? I am sure that you exhausted all of your options before approaching me." Leonardo shot back, nibbling under his chin, at a sensitive bundle of nerves that Ezio had not known that he possessed. At his startled groan, Leonardo smirked against his skin. "I know all the places you like, Ezio, teeth or tongue or fingers. Let me give you pleasure."

-tbc. Why do I do this to myself? Arabic is hard. Again, if there are any problems, please point them out to me. I would like to have more pairings outside of the Al/Mal and Ez/Leo, but they are proving surprisingly difficult. T_T-


	8. Chapter 8

[A/N: Hm, the plot is moving at a crawl… ^^;;; Damn you, Ezio!]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 8

I

Leonardo had to keep him pinned, so it was not as though he could do very much with only one hand free, Ezio felt, gritting his teeth. He could not hurt his friend, and he was out of options, and Leonardo was doing something _amazing_ with just his tongue on a pulse point at his neck, his free hand deftly undoing a buckle at his waist.

Perhaps he had been mistaken about Leonardo's ability to do things one handed. Gravely mistaken. "Leonardo, _no_. Do not do this."

"Wait," Leonardo panted, against his neck, his voice thick with _need_. "Ah, _amore mio_, wait. In a moment, it will be better."

"This is wrong, Leonardo. _Stop_."

"Is it wrong? What is 'right' about what you do or about this world and what is 'wrong'?" Leonardo's fingers, however, hesitated, though his lips did not, pressing an exquisitely soft path up Ezio's neck.

"Please," Ezio grit out, hating to resort to begging, "Leonardo, _please_ stop."

Much to his surprise, Leonardo actually looked up at him searchingly, as though seeing him clearly for the first time since his intrusion into the room, then he lowered his head, and the sound that he made was ragged and broken in its despairing grief. The hand at his wrists dropped away, and Leonardo leant heavily against him, his gasping breaths against his collar not unlike heaving sobs.

They _were_ sobs, Ezio realized dimly, as he felt wetness against his neck, and awkwardly, he put his arms around his friend's shoulders, patting him tentatively on the back.

This was possibly an even _worse_ outcome. The God of this dark world evidently hated him.

"_Mi dispiace_, Ezio," Leonardo spoke finally, sounding exhausted. "I have done a terrible thing."

"You are passionate as always, Leonardo," Ezio said, as genially as he could, though his heartbeat had yet to slow. He had not exactly panicked, but it had been close. Still, he could not bring himself to be… _angry_ with Leonardo, not in the circumstances, in the face of his friend's heartbreak and anguish. "There is nothing to forgive."

"Isn't there?" Leonardo whispered. "I had been so _patient_. It was not as though I had not done it before, had not waited _years_ for your eyes to finally rest upon me. Then I heard what you said and I could not bear to wait and try to talk to you about it afterwards. I just felt that if I could but _show_ you-"

There had been rather _enough_ of showing. "You, ah, you have rather dramatically removed all possible doubt about your feelings." How did women manage to discuss such matters of the heart so easily? Ezio felt as though he was treading on eggshells, all of which were already close to fracturing, and he had to choose his words carefully. "If you want forgiveness you have it."

"You are always so kind. So kind that you are cruel." Leonardo shuddered against him, one hand fisted in Ezio's cape and the other in his cowl, his voice sinking to a barely audible whisper. "I just want a chance. All I _wanted_ was a chance."

"A chance to what?" Ezio wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"With you."

"With me what?" Ezio asked blankly.

Leonardo sucked in a breath, and then he began to laugh, a thin, mirthless sound that made the hair on the nape of Ezio's neck stand on end. "Oh, it is nothing, nothing. I am sorry for troubling you, Ezio, and again, for what I have done. Perhaps it is truly impossible after all."

Ezio held fast when Leonardo tried to pull away, disconcerted. "Leonardo, I thought that it was only women who say 'nothing, nothing' when there is something very wrong."

"I think you know what is 'very wrong', and I do not need to repeat myself any further. Tell me, without lying to me, why is it that you are here, and the Ezio of this world was replaced? Is he elsewhere, in your world, perhaps? When you accomplish whatever you set out to do, will you leave and will he return?"

Ezio hesitated, long enough for Leonardo to sigh again, his breath tickling Ezio's neck. "He is dead, is he not? This world's Ezio."

"Ah…"

"I am older than you, Ezio. And unlike you I have seen all of this world and its tragedies. I did think that you were miraculously unscathed for an ambush that had involved explosives. We had nothing of your brothers for your parents to bury, and yet, when we found you in the wreckage, you had only that wound in your belly."

So much for _La Volpe's_ verisimilitude: it had been no match for Leonardo's powerful logical mind. "He is dead."

"_Si_, so I had thought, since the moment I first saw _La Volpe_ speak to you. I just wanted to believe…" Leonardo choked, his hands clenching tightly for a moment, then he spoke again, defeated. "So there really is nothing left, and even this is on borrowed time."

Ezio was not sure what Altaïr might have told Leonardo already. "When I accomplish what I need to do-"

"Then you will leave! So my world will end either way."

"Leonardo," Ezio carefully tilted up Leonardo's chin. The blank eyes, dead of emotion, frightened him, more than even _La Volpe's_ revelations, more than the thought of his father's safety. They reminded him of the eyes he saw whenever he visited his mother, in his 'world'. "Other people need you here. Even if I go, you have my family. And your new friends in Masyaf. You will not be alone."

"I…" Leonardo's voice was hollow, the words forced. It seemed Ezio had said the wrong thing after all, but Leonardo was trying to appreciate the effort. "I suppose so. _Grazie_ for… for the reminder."

"I want you to let go," Ezio said, a little frustrated. "Surely there is someone else who can return your sentiment the way you deserve."

"I do not know how much time there is left," Leonardo retorted. "At the very least, I want to spend my share with no regrets. Or try to," he amended wryly. "_Mi dispiace_ again, Ezio."

"It is already forgiven and forgotten," Ezio said warily. It wasn't as though he wanted to remember, anyway, how skilled his friend's hands were on him. He had never known the like; had never kept any partners long enough by his side, nor had anyone he had ever laid with applied herself so to the study of his body. It was in a sense… flattering.

Had Leonardo been a woman, Ezio thought… no, he _knew_ that they would have already had at least a tumble, close friends or not: as he had with Rosa. He had tumbled women who were in love with him before, with little thought for the consequences or their feelings when he tired of them.

But Leonardo was a man, and though it was not as though no man had ever offered, Ezio felt distinctly uncomfortable with the very idea. He had always been curious – somewhat – but had not found any man to this regard who interested him enough for him to try. Up until now. Leonardo was _beautiful_, but it was also different, yet again: Ezio would not be here longer than a year if he managed what he had set himself to accomplish. Besides, it felt as though-

"So, actually," Leonardo said, almost conversationally if not for the faint hitch in his voice, "What really is the problem? I have thought about it for… for quite a while. Even before, it was not so difficult. You told me that it was possible that you would not ever return my feelings and so you did not wish to take advantage of them, but once I assured you that no matter what happened we would remain friends, you were willing to at least try."

Ezio hated himself a little for thinking that the caveat seemed logical. This world seemed adept at making him do so. Though, he had to admit that in _his_ reality, had Leonardo approached him so, so vulnerable and open, so _needy_, he might have seriously considered it. "That was before the lessons?"

"During."

"And that was all?"

"No. For the longest time you could only kiss." Leonardo smiled wryly. "I was happy with just that."

"Really?" Ezio scanned back over his last few conversations with Leonardo, barring the current incident, and felt slightly embarrassed at his conclusions in the face of the evidence. But still-

"Why, what did you think I wanted from you?" Leonardo sounded amused, and then he tensed. "I mean, before just now… ah, _mi disp-_"

"Leonardo, I said you were forgiven and I do not like repeating myself either," Ezio said firmly, poking Leonardo in the shoulder. "You know that it may be… it will likely be all I can give, and that my eyes may stray?"

"You _will_ stray. I will be quite surprised if you do not. You will try to hide it from me but I will know. It is still better than nothing."

Ezio _really_ disliked the previous Ezio now. "Leonardo-"

"This is a harsh world, with very few joys and pleasures, and life is cheap," Leonardo shrugged, his shoulders shifting against Ezio's. "I cannot begrudge you any when you risk your very life each time you leave on a mission. You give yourself without thought for the others: I have seen you return on the brink of death far too often, nursed you through the fever and the infection. I already share you with your Creed. So long as you come back to me what difference would a few more people along the way make?"

"I think if Father tried to present that sort of logic to Mother she would castrate him," Ezio observed, and Leonardo shook briefly against him in silent laughter, the friction in the air seemingly ebbing.

"Ah, well, the silent ones are the fiercest ones, I think. Especially women."

"I do not want you to close your heart to others, either. Especially once I am gone."

"I was celibate for a long time before I met you," Leonardo noted. "Just so you know, up until you, sex was never particularly interesting, compared to the rest of the contents of the world."

"I know. I just do not want you to end up like… like _Mother_. If you had someone else before I leave, that would be comforting."

"Like the Lady Auditore?" Leonardo asked, confused.

"In my timeline, the loss of Father and my brothers, and whatever those _bastardi_ Templar did to her before I could return. She was like a living corpse, never speaking again. Even eating and drinking, Claudia has to coax her. The look in her eyes, as though she had lost everything worth living for and was just awaiting her turn with the Reaper."

"I _am_ speaking to you right now," Leonardo pointed out slowly. "It sounds more like the effect of accumulated shock, in your case. I do not know what to say, except that you should be patient with her. You may think that she is not there, but she will know that you are trying."

"_Grazie_, Leonardo." Leonardo's words of comfort, at least, were _sincere_.

"There will always be something to live for." Leonardo said quietly. "So, when you are gone, I hope that you in turn will stop worrying about the fate of shadows."

"Is that what you think you are?"

"_La Volpe_ said-"

"I do not care what he said, this is real to me. I would treat you no differently from the Leonardo I know." _La Volpe's_ words and his warnings about 'native' involvement were beginning to haunt him, it seemed.

"Are you? So if he were to lay his heart bare for you, each time, you would dismiss it?"

"Leonardo," Ezio said dryly, trying to steer away from the raw nerve with a jest, "Are you jealous of _yourself_?"

"Well," Leonardo said defensively, "I think I have sufficient reasons… oh, you laugh! Now you laugh!"

Ezio managed to stifle his chuckling, holding Leonardo in place even as his friend pointedly tried to pull away. "I hope I never do fall in love with anyone like you have. It truly is the oldest form of madness known to man, without reason, without mercy. Here." Ezio pressed the pad of the thumb of his ungloved hand against Leonardo's lips, and his friend stilled instantly. "I do not know this form of pain that consumes you. And if it was anyone but you, I might _take_, without care of the consequences. But since it is you, I want you to keep your options open."

"I have heard that before," Leonardo said, though his mouth twitched upwards. Judging by the way that a little spark flared back in Leonardo's expressive eyes, Ezio could guess his predecessor's next move, as well as his own. Later he would call it compassion, or curiosity, now, it simply seemed to feel… _right_, to pull Leonardo towards him. The kiss was soft, slow, and chaste.

II

"You do good work," Malik said approvingly, after Ezio finished his latest mission report. The _Maestri_ used a joint study now, which consisted of a spare room with the map of the Bureaus tacked on a bare wall, and another map sprawled over a table, marked with pins and tokens. Intelligence reports were piled on a chair, and there was a collection of bloodied feathers in a jar. Books and scrolls littered the ground. At present, it held only himself, Malik and Altaïr – both his uncle and his father were out on missions.

"Good work?" Altaïr snorted. "_Ho laa atekel-lem arabyah!_"

"I understood that," Ezio said pointedly. "And I am getting better at the language, thank you. _Maestro_."

As Altaïr and Ezio glared at each other with the desk between them as a paltry barrier, Malik laughed, not in the least disconcerted. "Whether or not Ezio can speak Arabic had nothing to do with the mission. And even so, his pronunciation could use some work but he is studying very hard, Altaïr. I think he can be assigned to the other Bureaus soon."

"You are very kind, _Maestro_ Al-Sayf," Ezio said, pointedly giving Malik his best smile.

Instantly, Altaïr scowled. The man seemed to view any sort of friendly overture that Ezio made to Malik as some sort of territorial encroachment, which Ezio felt was _somewhat_ unfair, given their predilections with other men. It was however, much to _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad's disadvantage, also highly entertaining.

"If you think it is kind to give you more options with which to gamble your life," Malik returned the smile, his sidelong glance at Altaïr both playful and knowing. Had Malik not also been an obviously willing partner in this line of entertainment, Ezio might already have dropped it, mindful of the _Maestri_ and their relationship.

"I will very willingly gamble my life under your bidding, _Maestro _Al-Sayf," Ezio said expansively, and Altaïr's scowl deepened further. If looks could kill, Ezio would be a smoking stain on the far wall. It could be suicidal, but needling the highly-strung, famous _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad was fast developing into one of Ezio's favorite pastimes.

"But not your father's or your uncle's," Altaïr retorted coldly, with the faintest of emphasis on the titles.

Ezio stifled his instinctive retort, instead sidling up to Malik's right and carefully keeping the _Maestro_ between himself and Altaïr. "I cannot deny that I am worried about them when they are away. Just," he added, inserting a playful purr into his tone and resting his ungloved palm on Malik's hand on the desk, "As I would be worried if _Maestro_ Al-Sayf was assigned on a mission."

Malik made no move to remove his hand, though neither did he acknowledge it, continuing to study the reports before him even as Ezio grinned mischievously at Altaïr from the dubious safety of Malik's shoulder. "Your uncle and your father are also very capable, Ezio. I know you do not like the idea of their exposure to the front lines, but both of them insisted on playing their part. In fact, had _I_ not been consistently outvoted during mission assignments, _I_ would undertake-"

"Oh no, your role here is also very crucial. If you would forgive my presumption." Ezio said quickly.

"Hah! You treat me as a cripple because I am older and one-armed? Let us take this to the practice grounds," Malik glanced up, all playful challenge.

"Why trouble yourself?" Altaïr growled, "I will gladly thrash him on your behalf."

His face turned away from Altaïr, Malik frowned, very slightly, and this prompted Ezio to say, more sharply than he intended, "I was not aware that the _Maestro_ Al-Sayf required a champion, _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad, with all due respect. I am sure that he is more than capable of thrashing me by himself."

"You," Altaïr snapped, "Are an insolent child-"

"_Altaïr_." Malik interjected sharply, his smile warm but his eyes narrowed. "I think you mentioned that you wished to inspect the new installments at the battlements?"

It was a clear dismissal, and Altaïr knew it. "The battlements can wait."

"Now, Altaïr. Please."

Altaïr bared his teeth in a silent snarl, but he lowered his head and strode out of the study, slamming the door behind him. Malik waited quietly for a moment, pulling his hand out from under Ezio's to open another report, and then he began to chuckle, the sound so infectious that Ezio helplessly joined in.

"You like to dance with death, friend Ezio."

"It makes life more interesting."

"Or shorter."

"I do not think he will kill me," Ezio said honestly. Assassins were trained to understand the full limits of their ability, and they, more than any usual man, were wary of the consequences of their anger, and Altaïr was a _Maestro_.

"But he can make your life difficult."

"But _you_ are there also, _Maestro_," Ezio pointed out, with arch innocence. "So there is a balance. And if he ever does try to kill me I will simply run here and hide behind you."

"You _are_ an insolent child," Malik said, amused and patting Ezio on the shoulder, as though in affection.

"Oh, but you like me that way." Ezio teased, unrepentant.

"Infuriating but endearing. Very much like Altaïr, _before_ Al-Mualim's betrayal," Malik mused, as though to himself.

"Now he has no sense of humor?"

Malik's lip twitched. "Perhaps."

"I am a little surprised," Ezio glanced out from the window in the study, that overlooked the courtyard and the edge of the smithy. "After all, are you not also chasing Leonardo?"

"In a dual decision, yes." Malik explained, "But someone outside of such an arrangement, showing an… interest in me before Altaïr? No, that does not happen. And so, you are dancing with death. It is a new thing, for Altaïr, and he clearly does not like it."

"It does not happen?" Ezio repeated, a little taken aback. "But the two of you, your relationship seems quite…"

"Open? Not in the way you think, friend Ezio. Usually we have, like I have described to you before… _arrangements_, when there is a third party of mutual interest who seems to be attracted to Altaïr in turn."

"But not you?"

Malik shrugged, gesturing at his missing arm. "Altaïr is the famous, handsome one."

"Truly? _I_ like you better, and you are just as handsome as he is; you are also a _Maestro_. Most likely, people are simply afraid of his temper."

"And you are not?"

"Should I be?" Ezio grinned. "I can run faster than him, I think, and be hiding behind you in no time."

"Whatever the reason is," Malik smiled, however, as though pleased with Ezio's words, "It does not happen. And you do not fool me, friend Ezio. You have no interest in men. It shows."

"I do not need to fool _you_, friend _Maestro_," Ezio shot back, cheerful. "Besides, you enjoy our little game. So I will dance with death for your pleasure."

"Trying to insinuate yourself into my good books via flattery or reckless actions will not get your father or your uncle unassigned any more quickly."

"That was not my intent." Ezio leant back against the desk, crossing his legs. "I know that I need to be fully assignable, first. I am doing this because it is _fun_."

" 'Fun'?" Malik repeated, chuckling again. "I think I do not fully understand you after all, Ezio. That is a most refreshing occurrence."

"Of course. There is no one in this world like me."

"Hah! After Altaïr leaves on his mission tomorrow, come to the practice grounds and test your blade against mine," Malik smirked. "I think you and your considerable ego do need a thrashing after all."

"Tomorrow? Why not right now?" Ezio retorted, unafraid. He found that he was actually… looking forward to the idea, curious about how Malik would be able to keep his balance one-armed.

"Right now? If Altaïr sees you draw your sword against me, Ezio… I think, son of _Maestro_ Giovanni, discipline, witnesses or not, he will try to kill you."

"And you will be right there for me to hide behind, will you not?" Ezio reached out and tugged gingerly at Malik's wrist, mindful of the hidden blade. When Malik hesitated, Ezio added, "He thinks you effectively disabled, does he not? It will be a good eye-opener."

"He knows that I can fight. He has seen me practice before," Malik did not move, though his tone was a little uncertain.

"I would think any of these other Masyaf assassins have always been too afraid of the great _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad to put real effort behind their blades. How long since you have fought against someone and enjoyed it?"

"And you will not hold back?" Malik's earnest question told Ezio that he had hit upon his mark with his guess.

"I hate losing, _Maestro_ Al-Sayf."

"Good." Malik's eyes gleamed; behind them, an eagle that had long slept was shaking out its wings. "So do I."

-tbc. In responses to comments so far: thanks for reading! I tried my best, but yaoiland rules couldn't apply after all. Dubcon just didn't seem to fit character. I don't write while planning out the rest of the story ahead of time (if I do, I just get bored), so at present as at always, I have no plans for this fic, character development, smut or pairings, it will just happen when it does.-


	9. Chapter 9

[A/N: Hasn't gotten anywhere and it is chapter 9? T___T Damnit, Ezio, stop playing around with the supporting cast! ^^. Maybe Al Mualim can die of old age.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 9

I

"I think you have about four minutes, _amico mio_," Malik observed, as he drew his sword. Around them, Masyaf's assassins were gathering, speaking quietly to themselves but otherwise merely watching with their trained, unnatural stillness. Conscious of their audience, Ezio unsheathed his blade with a dramatic flourish and a wide, playful grin.

"Four minutes to what?" They began to circle each other, and by the neatness and grace of Malik's footwork, it looked like the _Maestro_ was not speaking in jest when he had threatened to thrash him at swordplay.

"Before someone of our mutual acquaintance lands on your back."

"So we have only four minutes to play? What a tragedy, _Maestro_."

Timing and place was everything in any battle, Mario had taught, and he needed to keep Malik between himself and the battlements… assuming that Altaïr would be making a beeline for them. Of course, an added layer of danger always merely meant an added thrill to the game.

"We have as long as your ability to survive violent death endures, friend Ezio," Malik corrected cheerfully, his eyes flicking between Ezio's footwork to the weave of his blade and back, calculating his ability in turn.

"You have such surprisingly little faith in me. I just have to keep you between us, do I not?"

"Impress me then," Malik retorted, though his smirk informed Ezio that the _Maestro_ had guessed at his intended strategy.

The attack from the one-armed assassin, when it came, was swift as an arrow. Ezio raised his blade to defend – and found himself sidestepping hastily and dodging by the skin of his teeth as Malik darted to his side at the last minute and swept his sword forward.

Leaping forward, Ezio brought his blade in an arc towards Malik's flank, but the assassin was already behind him. Operating on pure instinct, Ezio's free hand flicked to his side, the blade under his wrist flicking free, shearing off Malik's sword in time for steel to pass harmlessly an inch before his nose.

"You _are_ being serious," Ezio said, surprised that his voice was steady, as they disengaged back into their circling stride.

Malik was _fast_, and for a one-armed man, there was no hint of any sort of problem with his balance at all. It had to be an old wound, and Ezio wondered how a consummate swordsman like Malik could have acquired an injury that was so serious. Perhaps it was an infection, or something acquired in his youth. Certainly he had observed that it was a topic that both _Maestri_ did not like: either Altaïr's expression would freeze, or, usually, Malik would quickly and smoothly change the subject.

"Remember that you told me you would not hold back," Malik returned, inclining his head a little to the right. "Try not to die before I enjoy this, Ezio."

Ezio took the broad hint, circling to his left before darting forward, feinting to Malik's left flank. The one-armed assassin sidestepped neatly, parrying his follow-through with a deft twist of his blade, and in one fluid motion, kicked at Ezio's belly. He jerked back barely in time, catching Malik's heel and pulling forward and _up_. The one-armed assassin lost his balance with barely a hiss, rolling as he landed and onto his feet, Ezio's blade gouging a shallow furrow on the ground where Malik's shoulder had been.

"Good!" Malik grinned. "Yet there is no discipline or style to your blade, friend Ezio. You seem to operate on instinct, on reaction."

"My style is named 'winning', friend _Maestro_," Ezio replied, with a wink, catching movement at the periphery of his vision, to the _right_. Quickly, he brought up his blade, catching the hidden blade on the flat of his sword and shoving as hard as he could with his free hand.

Altaïr recovered in mid stumble with a growl, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword even as, with one look at the older assassin's murderous expression, Ezio hastily darted behind Malik. Somehow, the one-armed assassin had divined the exact direction of Altaïr's attack: long before Ezio had seen or heard anything, and it had not been in a beeline from the battlements. Without the warning, Ezio would indeed have ended up with Altaïr upon him.

"Altaïr," Malik acknowledged distantly, and then turned to face Ezio, presenting his back to the other _Maestro_ in dismissal, "Do not interfere."

"He is trying to _hurt_ you," Altaïr hissed, trying to circle around Malik, even as Ezio mirrored him in turn to keep the one-armed _Maestro_ between them. He did not doubt that he could hold his own – at least for a while – in a fight between himself and Altaïr, but he knew instinctively that this bout was Malik's prerogative to decide, that it was an old quarrel between the pair that had only festered.

"We are sparring, Altaïr." Malik's genial tone had a clear note of warning, which Altaïr ignored. "It is practice. How can we spar and learn if he does not at least _try_ to hurt me, and I in turn?"

"I do not trust him to spar with you."

"And why would you trust the others?" Malik replied, with a flat calm that should have given Altaïr sufficient warning. "Because they do not try?"

"Because they are our men!" Altaïr was clearly too angry to listen.

"The Auditore and their men are also ours now," Malik pointed out, "I would trust them with my life, and find it a great pity if you do not."

"I will _not_ permit this."

"And who are you to permit what I may or may not do, Altaïr? Am I not also a Master at Masyaf?"

Frustrated, Altaïr snarled, the furious sound more akin to an animal than anything from a man's throat. "_Malik_. You only have one-"

Knowing that Malik would take a long time in forgiving such a remark, Ezio attacked to interrupt, bringing his blade down in a broad sweep towards Malik's head, dramatic, but ultimately a beginner's move that invited counterattack. The quick flash of a smile from the one-armed assassin as he parried informed Ezio that Malik knew and appreciated what he had done, and instead of taking advantage of the purposeful opening that Ezio had left, Malik leapt back instead, sweeping his blade backwards and upwards.

Puzzled for a brief moment at the inexplicable move, Ezio could not help but laugh as the edge of the blade stopped exactly at Altaïr's throat the moment that the other assassin sidestepped to circle around Malik. Without looking behind him, Malik had somehow anticipated the other assassin's next move with unerring precision.

"I _said_," Malik stated, "_Do not interfere_."

Altaïr wavered, his eyes flicking between Malik and Ezio, then he spoke a low string of angry Arabic, too fast and soft for Ezio to catch. Shrugging, Malik retorted in the same fashion, if calmer, and Altaïr grit his teeth and jammed his sword with ill grace back into his sheath.

It took all of Ezio's discipline not to flinch as Altaïr stalked towards him. Just as the _Maestro_ passed, he hissed, almost inaudibly, "If you so much as _scratch_ him, you will regret it, child."

Self-preservation held Ezio's tongue until his peripheral vision told him that Altaïr had perched on the circular wooden barrier that ringed the practice ground, like some sort of vengeful eagle, waiting for the smallest mistake from its prey. "You keep his leash short, _Maestro _Al-Sayf."

Malik chuckled, shaking his head at Ezio's irrepressibly impertinent words. "If Altaïr wants to kill you from where he is, he is more than capable of doing so, Ezio."

"_Va bene_, I enjoy gambling only when the stakes are high."

From where he was, Ezio could see Leonardo and Claudia hurrying up the steps from the inner gate to the practice courtyard. Leonardo blinked, clearly startled at the tableau, though his sister merely grinned and gestured very slightly at Altaïr's general direction, her eyes questioning. At his faint nod, she began to pull Leonardo towards Altaïr, whispering to him.

"Your cavalry has arrived?" Malik asked, as they began to circle once again.

"You could say that they give me a little more of a gambling chance." Ezio replied, as both Leonardo and Claudia began to attempt to engage Altaïr in conversation. From the change in the background susurration of their voices, he would be able to have advance notice of an attack. "Though someday I hope to learn perception from you, _Maestro_."

"Perhaps if you are not so busy listening to your own voice, you could start to learn," Malik said dryly, darting forward again, this time with his blade held low and behind him.

Wary of another attack from the flank, Ezio stepped back, bringing his blade up to parry and frowning as Malik merely brought his blade up in a wide arc towards his thigh. Sidestepping, Ezio countered with a quick jab towards Malik's ribs, his free hand, fueled on instinct, drawing his dagger barely in time to block the snake-quick follow through from the feint as Malik dodged his counter.

"Or perhaps you are simply attuned to him?"

"Hardly. It is just a matter of paying attention to other things around you, rather than yourself," Malik said, parrying Ezio's flurry of thrusts. "And then thinking ahead to what your opponent may do next. Yours is an unpredictable blade, however, something outside forms and styles. It is quite refreshing."

"Are you enjoying yourself yet?"

"More than I thought I would," Malik admitted, his smile feral this time as he countered with tight arcs of steel, slicing a rent in Ezio's sleeve and drawing a slick, shallow line of blood. "Try to talk less, friend Ezio. You might actually fare better."

"If you are enjoying yourself then my work is done, _Maestro_," Ezio inspected the wound cursorily as he darted back. It stung, but did not impair his arm. "So I guess I will need to level the playing field a little."

Sheathing his dagger, he shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword such that he could wield it two-handed. Malik was fast, but without his left arm, he had to rely on speed rather than force, and keep moving to correct his balance as he attacked. Also, if Ezio could somehow pin his blade, the _Maestro_ should have no recourse.

Malik's smirk was knowing, even as he jerked up his chin. "Come on then."

II

"I think you like pain," Leonardo observed, cleaning, stitching and then bandaging up the gash on Ezio's left arm.

"The hell should I have known that the _bastardo_ Al-Sayf would actually cut me this deep?" Ezio groused, his injured arm stretched over Leonardo's work desk, staring hard at the bracer on his right.

He _really_ hated needles and thread.

"You did try to hamstring him." Leonardo tied off a knot with efficiency, and then began to pack his kit away, rolling up the fresh bandages and the medicinal vials, slipping them into their velvet pockets, slotting the needle and thread into a pouch built into the lining of the black bag.

The smithy was busy outside the workroom, men poring over Leonardo's plans, watching the moulds and working at the bellows, shouting at each other in Arabic. Even inside the workroom it was stuffy from the heat, and Ezio began to put his vest back on with regret.

"At the last moment I would have turned my blade."

"It looked very convincing even to me." Leonardo countered, though he grinned as Ezio tucked his sleeve into his bracer, the assassin muttering darkly and wincing to himself all the while.

"Convincing? He was injury-free, save for maybe a few bruises. That is not by sheer coincidence."

"Is it not? The _Maestro_ is a skilled fighter." Leonardo smiled as Ezio scowled at him. "You just hate losing."

"I did not _lose_, I think it was a _draw_."

"A draw where you are the only one who was bleeding by the end of it is not a draw, Ezio."

"No," Ezio glared, until Leonardo chuckled, tucking the black bag under his desk. "A draw."

"_Bene_, a draw." Leonardo said, amused, clearly humoring him, and try as Ezio might he could not discern the broken, desperate man from days before. "After all I _guess_ you would know better about the intricacies of such matters than a mere engineer."

"A mere engineer indeed."

He still had regular lessons, but Leonardo had made no move to initiate anything further, which suited Ezio fine. He supposed that after all, up until a better option presented itself, an occasional kiss or a few kind words would not go entirely amiss. It was not as though Ezio had the time or energy to actively locate a solution at present.

"Perhaps you should try fighting with wooden weapons," Leonardo continued to talk as Ezio buckled the last of his belts firmly over his chest and pulled down his cowl. "Practice ones."

"Wooden weapons have a different feel and balance to a real blade. It would not be practice." Ezio patted his scabbard, then raised his hand quickly as Leonardo opened his mouth. "And no, I would much rather you did not try to look into how you might make a wooden blade feel more like a real one."

"It would have its benefits." Leonardo gestured at Ezio's injury. "I do not like seeing you hurt, Ezio. Worse still if it is not even necessary."

"It was a little necessary," Ezio shrugged. "Did you see how the _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad looked at _Maestro_ Al-Sayf, afterwards? I daresay they are currently now occupied, privately, in their quarters. Perhaps they might even thank me afterwards."

"A counseling session, writ in your blood?"

"Assassins understand blood." Ezio fingered his sleeve, over the bandage, flinching as Leonardo batted his hand away.

"If you want it to heal, then stop touching it." Easy words and easy touches. Sometimes, Leonardo forgot which Ezio he was addressing, but of late, Ezio simply let it pass.

"I will wait till the _Maestri_ finish… re-acknowledging each other and then ask them for a posting other than Acre," Ezio followed Leonardo out into the smithy, and then to the relative coolness of Masyaf proper. "Hopefully they will be in a better mood by then."

"I hope that was not your intention all along," Leonardo patted him on the back, his hand lingering on Ezio's spine for a little too long.

"Father wants to do this their way, so I will have to do it their way," Ezio grumbled, though he did not deny that it was… _one_ of his reasons. Giovanni was anxious not to exclude either of the Masyaf _Maestri_ from posting decisions, even if one of them was inclined to agree with him. "I like _Maestro_ Al-Sayf, and it did seem that he was a little… unappreciated."

"Unappreciated?"

"_Si_. He has a lot of pride, perhaps even as much as _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad. He just hides it a lot better. The great _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad should not take his partner for granted. So-"

Excited shouts from the battlements above and to their left made Ezio turn and look out through the main gateway, expecting to see his father or his uncle, trotting eagerly towards the gate and trailing Leonardo behind him. A speck was fast approaching, a single rider, hunched over his saddle, his horse bowed in exhaustion.

It was one of Mario's _condottieri_. Frowning, Ezio pushed past the growing crowd, sprinting towards the horseman, the blood draining from his cheeks as he noted the hastily patched injuries on the man's forehead and thigh and feared the worst.

"Vitale," Ezio frowned, as the horseman drew up beside him, panting and pale from blood loss, as far along the road to the Reaper as his horse. "Where are my father and uncle? Why have you returned by yourself?"

"_Messer_ Ezio," Vitale gasped, as Ezio helped him down from the saddle. "Your uncle is… wounded. He and our forces are hiding in Jerusalem."

"My father! Where is my father!"

"Your father is captured, _Messer_." Vitale scrabbled at his collar, clutching it tight. "Forgive me… he always wanted… alone…"

"Leonardo, look after him," Ezio laid Vitale carefully down on the grass. "Try to prevent Claudia from coming after me."

"You are going?" Leonardo frowned. "You are not assigned to any Bureau other than Acre. You said that you wanted to do things their way. And Mario is wounded? Perhaps I should come with you-"

"That was before I knew my father is in danger." Ezio grabbed the reins of the nearest horse at the stables, leading it out onto the road. "And no, I will travel faster alone."

"You have no supplies, Jerusalem is guarded and-"

It was cheating in its purest form, but Ezio leant forward and kissed Leonardo swiftly on the lips, hard and sure. "I will come back, Leonardo, I promise."

"I…" Leonardo's fingers had flit up to his mouth, his eyes wide, then he blushed and smiled, turning down to kneel at the wounded man's side. "_Bene_. I will trust you. And I will talk to your sister."

"Try also to persuade the _Maestri_ not to kill me when I return," Ezio mounted up even as the Masyaf guards and assassins spilled out of the Gate, spurring the horse towards the horizon, to Jerusalem.

-tbc: short chapter. I don't do very well with fight scenes (I get bored halfway), and I had to cut the chapter where it was for completion. Also, 9 chapters is about right for Ezio to figure out how to shut down Leonardo's brain.-


	10. Chapter 10

[A/N: This is AU (I have to keep reminding people sometimes), where Jerusalem and most of the world have been either torched or modified into either Templar or Assassin strongholds. Therefore, though I will be using some landmarks, they will just be in name only. Secret passages and dungeons etc are fictional.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 10

I

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Mario was _not_ pleased to see him. Even swathed with bandages over his arms and chest and evidently unable to walk, confined to bed, his uncle still managed to affix him with an iron glare.

"_Porca puttana_, did you not get the _message_?"

"If you mean the runner you sent, he was nearly dead from his wounds. All he could tell me was that you were injured and Father is captured," Ezio retorted impatiently, pacing in a tight circle in the room.

"_Cazzo!_ The Templars must have intercepted him." Mario glared at the rest of the _condottieri_ crowding the tiny room. "All of you, get out. Except the _rafiq_." He followed this with a quick phrase in Arabic, and the _rafiq_ nodded, settling down on a chair as Mario's men vacated the room and closed the door behind them. This _rafiq_ was apparently a cobbler, a wiry, thin man with sun-dark features and a shaved head.

"It was a trap, _nipote_. We found out too late to save Giovanni."

"Then, he is dead," Ezio whispered, reeling, remembering the rope, the _crack_-

Mario stared at him for a long moment; too long – and then he sighed loudly. "God forgive me, but I cannot lie. No, he is not dead; the Templars captured him on purpose. He is bait, for _you_. Why _you_ in particular, I do not know. The messenger was sent to tell the _Maestri_ that you were to be either confined or sent to Acre."

"It does not matter why they want me. I want to know where Father is."

"That is _exactly_ why you were not meant to come!"

"Now I am here, so it makes no difference."

"_Ezio_. I will never be able to face Maria again, if I return to Masyaf with _both_ your bodies."

"And do you think I can face her if I return now to Masyaf without even _trying_ to save my father?" Ezio argued, flushed with anger.

"Al Mualim has the Apple."

"He can have all of the Pieces for all I care, I will still kill him!"

"You… _you_…" Mario snarled, coughing, and Ezio hastily passed him a glass of water from the dresser.

"My mind is made up and I cannot be swayed, uncle. Either you and the _rafiq_ help me, or I will do this without you."

"God forgive me," Mario murmured, with a glance behind him, towards the _rafiq_. At the questioning tilt to his head, Mario sighed, and nodded. The _rafiq_ began to speak, in rapid fire Arabic, with Mario translating.

"Giovanni is being held in the dungeons under the Temple Mount. We do not have the forces to make a sufficient diversion without being wiped out, and all possible entrances will be guarded."

"I will take care of any guard who stands in my way. It is better that the remaining _condottieri_ rest and recover so as to prepare for our retreat, when I have Giovanni."

Mario translated for the _rafiq_ for a moment, the old man nodding and making a few comments. Ezio caught 'risk' and 'escape', frowning, then Mario sighed. "The _rafiq_ has a point. Even assuming that you fight all the way down into the dungeon, even assuming that Giovanni can be moved, how will you escape?"

"I will find a way."

"That is _exactly_ the sort of thinking that landed your father in his situation," Mario groaned, passing an arm over his eyes. "And they will be expecting you. _Porca vacca!_"

"Then what can we do, uncle? What do you suggest?"

"Giovanni, you, Maria, Claudia, you are the only family I have. So do not think I am suggesting this lightly, _nipote_. We are at war. They will expect us to come for Giovanni, so they will guard him tightly. The _rafiq_ suggests, if you are hell bent on insanity, that it is possible that Al Mualim is less heavily guarded. If you can take out Al Mualim, you will have the power of the Apple. But-"

"But I will be risking the possibility that when the alarm is raised, the guards will murder Father. I cannot take that risk."

"The Apple is what is important, Ezio. We war over the Pieces, and all of us are pawns."

"We war over the Pieces to protect our _people_. What use would be a Piece to me if all the people we wish to use it to protect are _dead_?" Ezio countered angrily. "You cannot convince me. _Grazie_ for your help, uncle, and _grazie_ as well to the _rafiq_. Point me in the direction of the nearest entrance to the dungeons, and I will take my leave."

"Your mind is set." Mario frowned. "I cannot dissuade you from this?"

"No."

"_Rafiq_," Mario's tone became a little more respectful, as he asked the _rafiq_ to leave the room. The 'cobbler' looked puzzled, but he got to his feet, bowing respectfully first to Mario, then to Ezio, before leaving the room in turn.

"If you think you have anything more to say that will change my mind-"

"I wish I had the words!" Mario growled. "The Auditore family operates on blood succession, and you are its future. You _must_ survive."

Mindful of the fact that the world would either end in a year or he would leave, Ezio added carefully, "There is Claudia."

"It will have to be you _and_ Claudia," Mario nodded wearily. "It is my hope, _nipote_, that when the time comes, the two of you will be mature enough for the responsibility! Where is Claudia right now?"

"I told Leonardo to keep her in Masyaf."

"Good. Hopefully she will not bring it upon herself to come after you." Mario sighed. "The _rafiq_ has maps of the whole of Jerusalem – including its tunnels – in his study. Go there and at least _plan_ your attack. Can you do that?"

"I can do that, uncle." It was a small concession for his uncle's peace of mind, even though Ezio wanted to leave now, and Hell take the consequences.

"How many men do you need?"

"I will go by myself. You should leave Jerusalem with the _condottieri _once you are able and return to Masyaf. So if I do not return, then it will be up to you to teach Claudia."

"You are in every respect your father's son," Mario said irritably, though he looked more resigned than frustrated. "Very well. Plan out your route and report back to me. I will be leaving Jerusalem tonight."

"_Bene_, uncle."

"Leonardo provided us with a few… devices that you may be able to use. They are also in the study."

II

"What are these things supposed to be?" Ezio asked, shaking one of the spheres and blinding as the two _condottieri_ beside him shrank back and ducked hastily behind furniture.

"Explosives, _Messer_ Ezio. Could you, ah, put it back into the pouch?"

"_Explosives_?" The sphere was fist-sized and made of glass; within it was a pale, viscous green fluid.

"If the glass is breached… _boom_," one of the _condottieri_ said warily, staring at his hands. "When you were riding into Jerusalem, did you not see, that wall?"

There had been a section of the wall that was blackened and crumbled, but Ezio had not paid attention to it. "Ah, I, ah, did think that was curious."

"That took three of those spheres, _Messer_ Ezio."

Ezio was tempted to ask _what_ Mario and Giovanni had been sent to Jerusalem to do, but he guessed that it probably had to do with the Apple. "I see. It is a new invention from Leonardo?"

"_Messer _Leonardo devised them two days before we left. _Maestro_ Mario Auditore mentioned that he wished there was a way to destroy a wall without using a siege engine."

"Remarkable-"

The door to the study slammed open. "_Ezio_."

Shocked by Altaïr's voice, Ezio fumbled the sphere, then scrambled for it as his brain caught up with his fingers. The ball seemed to fall in slow motion, the fluid within it curling up against the glass, and it was pure irony that he would come so far only to be killed by his own stupidity.

The ball fell against the toe of a boot, then, as Ezio watched, blinking, Altaïr flipped it up and easily into his palm, depositing it into the pouch on the study desk alongside the other spheres.

"You men," Altaïr said curtly, turning to the unabashedly impressed _condottieri_. "Dismissed."

As the mercenaries filed out, Ezio had to lean back against the desk. His knees felt unsteady. "_Grazie_, _Maestro_."

"Stupid child." Altaïr glanced down at the map. "Could you not have _waited_?"

"If I had waited you would have ordered me to stay in Masyaf."

"And well you should have. Your emotions are compromising your judgment." Altaïr glared at him, his robes dusty and stained from hard riding. It seemed that the _Maestro_ must have followed him as quickly as possible.

"If you are not going to help me then I will do this alone," Ezio retorted, ignoring the rebuke. "My father is in danger."

"There is no time to discuss your insolence right now," Altaïr allowed, tracing a route on the map with his finger, frowning, and then following another. "Have you even _been_ to Jerusalem before, child?"

"No, and who was to blame for that?"

"Still your tongue. I am trying to _help_ you, and if you anger me further I may change my mind," Altaïr retorted, tracing a third route.

"You came here to help me?" Ezio said, surprised. "_Maestro_ Al-Sayf-"

"Is also in favor. It is clear that we cannot change your mind, and the _Maestri_ Auditore are our allies. So, at least we should ensure that this is not utterly pointless." Altaïr pointed at the Dome of the Rock. "Al Mualim will be there. As you draw fire trying to breach your way into the dungeons, I will take the Apple." Altaïr's eyes were hidden, but his jaw was set. "This time, my sword will have no doubt or mercy."

"It looks like _I_ am helping _you_, " Ezio grinned, teasing.

Altaïr scowled at him. "If _I_ intercept Al Mualim, then _you_ will not have to deal with him – or the Apple. Take this route here." Altaïr pointed at a route that seemed to stem from an aqueduct. "Kill every guard on your way in. It will make it easier to leave again through the same way. I will take another route to Al Mualim."

"I will inform Mario."

"There is no need. I will do so. _Maestro _Giovanni may not have much time left."

"As you say, _Maestro_. Safety and peace, and good hunting."

Altaïr clasped his shoulder tightly for a moment before stalking out of the room. "Try not to die, Ezio."

III

Mindful of the containers of death in the pouches at his waist and trying not to think too hard on what would happen were he to slip and fall, Ezio inched slowly along the decorative ledges high up on the disused aqueduct. It was now used as a storage space as well as a delivery route, stacked high with boxes and barrels, and this allowed Ezio cover as well as height to stalk his prey.

Although he did not like the necessity, he cleaned up after each kill, hiding the bodies under tarpaulin or rushes. The stitched wound he had received from Malik was beginning to bleed through even the fresh bandages that had been applied by the _rafiq_, but Ezio forced himself to ignore the pain.

Eventually, Ezio arrived up against a barred archway with a stone double door. After searching the room for any hint of a lever or a convenient alternative route, Ezio sighed. It seemed that the Templars in Jerusalem were not as sporting – intentionally or otherwise – as those in Italia.

Standing as far back as he could, Ezio took the first of three spheres and threw it as hard as he could at the door, ducking back hastily behind a set of crates once he did so. There was a tinkle of glass, then a roar of flame and smoke, the wrenching _thump_ of an explosion, the screams of dying men, as the stone doors blasted inwards, and then, as Ezio grimly expected, the frantic pealing of alarm bells.

Uttering a silent prayer for the men whose lives he had taken, for those whose lives he was about to take, Ezio drew his blade and stepped out from behind the crates, sprinting into the next room. The first guard who turned to meet him died instantly, as Ezio sliced his sword over his neck; the one at the alarm bells slumped, a thrown dagger in his neck. The last guard brought up his blade, shaking in evident fear, and Ezio slapped aside his poor defense, skewering the guard through his heart. Wiping his blade clean on the surcoat of his last kill, Ezio sheathed his sword and began to climb.

He had made it halfway across the storage room, hopping from support shafts to protruding beams, when a patrol burst into the area from the exit, fanning out to search the warehouse. Ezio moved as silently as he could, inching from the last beam onto outcrops of rock in the crumbling stone of the aqueduct, until he was just above the guardsmen at the exit.

Ezio waited until the guardsmen behind him had their lines of sight obstructed by crates before dropping down silently, his hidden blades flicking outwards, then catching the bodies of the dead men with a huff of effort, lowering them silently onto the ground. Quickly, he scaled another set of crates, pulling himself up onto a beam.

It was frustrating work to dispose of all of them silently, but despite what Altaïr had said about the Apple, Ezio had no intention of drawing any more attention to himself than he already had. His priority was Giovanni, and too much heat would make it difficult for them to escape, particularly since he had to assume that his father was incapacitated.

Another room of Templar guards were disposed of the same way, and then another, with barred doors dealt with the same way. Each room was almost identical: rectangular and long and full of crates and convenient beams, repetitive but fairly simple to work with. Ezio had just closed the eyes of his last victim when he heard heavy, shuffling footsteps approaching, and hastily hid himself behind a set of crates to his left, silently climbing up and onto a ledge.

Much to his joy, Altaïr walked through the door, supporting a bloody but still breathing frame against his shoulder. His father's robes were torn, burned at corners, his cowl in shreds, his face almost unrecognizable under the bruises, blood and matted hair. His left hand, flung over Altaïr's shoulder, was bent at an odd angle. His bared feet dragged bloody trails along the flagstones. The nails, Ezio noted, struggling to swallow his fury, had been forcibly removed.

"Ezio?" Altaïr sounded annoyed. "You took so much time that I have already done your work for you, child."

About to announce his presence, Ezio hesitated as his father's free hand slowly came up, painstakingly tracing a word in the air. Altaïr did not seem to notice, instead looking down at the body of the dead guard, and then around him.

_Kill_.

Frowning, Ezio used his Sight, and dug his fingers sharply into the beam. The man who was supporting his father seemed to burn a violent yellow, and in the Sight, his face was not Altaïr's, but an old man's, with malevolent eyes and a flowing beard. At his belt was a familiar flare that glowed like a miniature sun in the Sight, in this reality.

The True Apple… and Al Mualim.

Quickly, Ezio evaluated his options, even as he switched back to normal vision. He could reveal his presence, and try to convince 'Altaïr' to give up his father without arousing his suspicions. He could try and assassinate 'Altaïr' from this distance, without hurting his father.

"Are you hurt, Ezio? When I suggested this path, it _was_ supposed to be the least guarded."

Making his decision, Ezio silently cocked the pistol on his bracer, and took aim, waiting until Al Mualim passed him and the back of his head was presented and firing, bracing himself against the recoil that snapped back against his wrist.

Instantly, Al Mualim ducked, dropping Giovanni heavily on the flagstones and turning to look up at him. Ezio's hand went for one of his throwing knives, only to freeze as Al Mualim pressed his boot over his father's neck.

"Good move," Al Mualim said, dropping Altaïr's voice, his illusion slipping away. An old man, dressed in dark robes similar to Malik's, a blade at his hip and the Apple in a pouch. "Come down here, boy."

Slowly, Ezio did so, leaping down from the beam to the ground, his palms up in the air. "My father is of no danger to you now. Let him go."

"Go?" Al Mualim chuckled, with a chill, dark humor. "Yes, where can he go, boy? He cannot walk, and your uncle has left Jerusalem. No one else knows that you are here. And these are the Assassins that have kept us all cowering in fear over the centuries: an easily culled herd of gullible men."

"Why did you not kill my uncle when you were pretending to be Altaïr?"

"We have hunted you rats for a long time, boy. At least when we finally have the chance to kill you, we should make you suffer. I will have my chance with your uncle… and the rest of your allies in Masyaf." Al Mualim increased the pressure of his boot on Giovanni's neck, causing his father to choke and cough blood. "If you want me to let your father go, draw your dagger and cut your own throat."

Giovanni's visible hand curled tightly at that, but Ezio forced his eyes up to Al Mualim's face even as his own hand whitened over the hilt of his sword. "How would I know that you would not kill him afterwards? Let me take him someplace safe, and upon my word I will return."

"And how could I trust your word that you would return?" Al Mualim countered, amused.

"You could come with us," Ezio said, thinking quickly. "We go to Masyaf. Within sight of its gates we put my father on a horse and drive it forward. Once the horse reaches the gate, I will take my life before you."

"You are missing the point, boy. I want you killed before your father's eyes. _That_ is true suffering, for any parent."

"In that case," Ezio grit out, "Your threat is hollow. If my father dies, knowing that I live on in his place, he will die content. And if you kill him, I swear by my family's name that I will not rest until I commit your soul to hell."

"An impasse." Al Mualim looked down regretfully, then he shrugged, stepping aside and drawing his sword. "Very well. Step here, child. I will cut you down myself."

Inwardly, Ezio breathed a sigh of relief as they backed towards the cleared space closer to the exit. As they circled, he asked, "Once you fooled _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad's Sight – and the Sight of all the Masyaf assassins – until you betrayed them all. Why did you not do that here?"

"You do not understand how the Sight works, boy, though, perhaps you cannot be blamed: few _have_ the Sight, even among the followers of the Creed. But since we have a little time, perhaps I could add to your education before the very end." Al Mualim observed. "Do you know what the colors stand for?"

"Blue, for ally, red, for foe, yellow, for a mark."

"And _why_ do these colors show?"

"It is the Sight," Ezio frowned. "It is something we have."

"No, boy, that is not an answer. _Why_ does someone show as blue, red or yellow? Who decides who is friend, foe or mark? Who would know?"

"God," Ezio ventured, tentatively.

Al Mualim chuckled briefly, harshly. "God! Yes, that is the reason you are fed… at least, in Masyaf. God provides. God protects. No, child, it is something else, a sixth sense, available only to a selected number of the children of two worlds, your subconscious intuition. Who is an ally? _One who shares my goals_. Who is a foe? _One who will oppose me_. Who is a mark? _One who I have been directed to kill_."

"Then you are saying that you read blue to the Masyaf assassins because you shared their goal?"

"So I did, at that time. I wished to end the Crusades, to bring peace. Our goals were the same, even if the means were different. Now there is no war, save for the small skirmishes we share along Masyaf's shrinking borders, and along the tiny territories your Creed holds in pockets of the rest of the world. There is peace, enforced by absolute power."

"That is not peace!" Ezio darted forward, swiping forward, and then at the last moment, sweeping to the side and swinging in a tight arc, as he had seen with Malik. The blade swung through Al Mualim's flank… which flickered, like a mirage, and Al Mualim reappeared inches away, still sedate. _The Apple_.

"Very good! Did you learn that from Malik? It was one of his favorite tactics." Al Mualim swept his blade downwards, and Ezio lifted his to parry: only for his sword to pass through the flickering image and a gash opening over his shoulder. Hissing with pain, Ezio hastily stepped back, recalling that the Sight had seen through the illusion, previously.

The world in its darkness showed that Al Mualim was actually a little to the left of his image. As Ezio turned to face him, Al Mualim smirked. "I am better at my use of the Apple since Masyaf, child. Even with the Sight, you cannot defeat me. Sooner or later, you will have to move."

"What does moving have to do with it?" Ezio asked, as they began to circle.

Al Mualim blinked, startled. "You… you can use the Sight as you move?"

"It is a sixth sense," Ezio shrugged, noting that Al Mualim's blade was growing hesitant, as though in fear. "All of the senses can be used as I move. Whenever I wish."

"I see now why Rodrigo wanted you dead, boy. Why we had to come to so much trouble to call you to Jerusalem."

"Why did he want me here?" Briefly, Ezio recalled Mario's words: this had been a trap, to use his father as _bait_. The spike of fury this thought caused forced him to grit his teeth to control it.

"He wants me to kill you and present him with your head," Al Mualim corrected. "He said that he had met and defeated you before, and that you would be of little difficulty… so I felt that I could have a little entertainment before I fulfilled my orders. Now I see that perhaps Rodrigo may have underestimated you."

Al Mualim's eyes flicked over to where Giovanni lay, and hastily, Ezio charged, his blade upraised. Al Mualim was nowhere as fast as Malik or as unreadable as Altaïr; Ezio recovered quickly from the parry, feinting high, to Al Mualim's shoulder, then twisting his blade to his right, instead, slicing Al Mualim's left arm open to the bone.

Abruptly, Al Mualim vanished. Looking around warily, Ezio noted the flash of yellow above him, on a beam, and threw a knife towards it. Al Mualim vanished again, reappearing on a crate, then again, as Ezio scrambled up to meet him.

This was impossible. If the enemy could vanish and reappear at will, Ezio was wasting time: his father was bleeding to death. And somehow, Altaïr had done it before, defeated Al Mualim to the brink of killing him. So there had to be a trick to it. Also, Al Mualim clearly still wanted to kill him, so he would not have left the room.

"Come out and face me, _bastardo_!"

"Whatever is the hurry, child?" Al Mualim smirked, his voice back up at the beam, vanishing again as Ezio threw a dagger and reappearing at the ground. "Concerned?"

Ezio leapt, his hidden blade unsheathed, only for Al Mualim to reappear on the same crate. He had to bluff. "Set locations, old man. That's why you made me come to this route out of all the routes, was it not? You can only move quickly between a set number of particular locations. Pre-prepared, perhaps."

As Leonardo's sphere impacted against the beam, it exploded, sending a hail of wooden shards upwards and out, a large section of the supporting beams all but vaporizing, the ceiling above blackening in the fury of the blast. Fire snaked quickly along the remaining shafts of long-dried wood, painfully bright in the darkness of his second Sight.

"I have more spheres, old man. Come down here and fight."

"The Apple has other uses, child." Al Mualim's visage was twisted in hatred – so his guess had been correct, after all. So saying, the bright yellow of his form began to split into multiple yellow forms that all hopped off the crates to face him, their blades upraised.

"You think illusions can fool my eyes?" Only one of the forms had the brilliant white of the Apple, and Ezio darted towards it, parrying the downwards sweep of Al Mualim's blade, kicking him back, and then ramming his sword through the Templar's neck.

The other forms vanished, as Al Mualim staggered back and off Ezio's blade, slumping nervelessly to the ground, choking on his own blood and clutching at his throat, weakly trying to speak, even as Ezio took the pouch with the Apple from him and fastened it to his own belt, then reaching up to close Al Mualim's eyes as the labored breathing drew to an ebbing close.

"Your end was quick, Al Mualim. Do not fear death, for I think that once, you were a good man. _Resquiat in pace_."

-tbc: there is ACII japanese doujin up on /cm/. Amazing. :O you guys make me happy, lol. Google translate also refused to come up with an appropriate translation of 'kill', so I had to use English.

Aaand, this chapter took so long because I couldn't figure out how to kill Al Mualim. So hopefully this doesn't seem too lame. I can feel myself losing interest… will try and finish this fic soon. O_o! -


	11. Chapter 11

[A/N: Sorry, I'm not so mean as to kill off Giovanni ^^. Also, the bosses do die pretty easily in AC1.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 11

I

Life always felt so _still_ after a mission, crystal and slow, as though he was awake and yet asleep. Ezio sat on a windowsill, overlooking the walled garden, and set his eyes on the horizon beyond. Italia called.

He heard the rattle of metal against flagstone long before his father spoke, but did not move. "_Buon giorno_, Ezio."

"_Buon giorno_, father." Ezio smiled, turning to regard Giovanni. Leonardo had constructed a wheelchair out of brass and wood while Giovanni was recovering from the inevitable delirium and infection from his wounds, as well as a walking stick for Mario that had been grudgingly accepted. Dressed in robes that hid all of his injuries save for the bandages over his fingers and a sling for his broken arm, Giovanni looked only a little paler than normal.

"Here." Giovanni held out a familiar pouch, as Ezio uncurled from the windowsill. The Apple, Ezio surmised, to his surprise: something clearly showed from his expression, because his father chuckled. "Foolish and reckless as your actions were."

"It would be better left in the keeping of one of the _Maestri_," Ezio said, keeping his hands to himself. He remembered what the Apple felt like, the inviting, tempting pulse that promised _knowledge_ beyond mortal ken. "Or placed with the Shield."

"During the whole journey from Jerusalem to Masyaf, it was in your keeping. Mario said that not once did you look into the Apple."

"It…" Ezio could not say that he had done so once before, in the 'true' world, and had almost lost himself, if not for Mario's intervention. "No, it feels dangerous."

"_Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad was of the firm conviction that it is yours to wield," Giovanni continued, and though his smile did not waver his narrowing eyes asked a silent question that Ezio pretended not to see, as he grudgingly took the Apple from his father and fastened the pouch to his belt.

"The _Maestro_ is too kind."

"Alongside informing us that in his opinion, we have let you run wild for too long," Giovanni chuckled. "A 'spoiled child', I think his words were."

"You are alive, the Apple is ours, and Al Mualim is dead." Ezio said, unable to keep his pride from his words. "I think it is called 'initiative' rather than 'running wild'."

"You are successful because he underestimated you," Giovanni reached for a wheel, then rested his arm on his lap instead as Ezio quickly moved to push the chair to the window. "You will not always be so lucky."

"I can always hope, Father," Ezio leant his elbows on the wooden back of the chair and rested his chin on his palms, comfortable and content like a cat in the warm sun. On such perfect mornings it was easy to forget that he belonged elsewhere, forget the injustice of this world and his growing hatred. _Spinal injuries. It is possible_, Leonardo had told him quietly, looking uneasy, _that _Maestro_ Giovanni will not walk again_.

"Why would Rodrigo want to kill you?"

Giovanni's question snapped Ezio out of his darkening thoughts. "Perhaps words of my fame reached his ears?" Ezio suggested as playfully as he could. With the True Apple against his hip, it was clear that at the very least, Altaïr had reached the same conclusion as Ezio had. Rodrigo feared the remnants of the river.

"In that case, he would have tried instead to trap _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad."

"Father, you wound me. I am _far_ better than that old-"

"That old what?" Altaïr said behind him, with deceptive calm. Ezio flinched, instinctively switching to his Sight, despite knowing that he had left Al Mualim dead in Jerusalem, and relaxed, closing his eyes, when he noted the hot _blue_ of Altaïr's form. Altaïr had not missed the transition: he had frowned slightly, but made no comment, circling around to Giovanni's side.

"_Assalam aleikom_, _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad." Giovanni smiled. "You stood by the doorway for a while. I was wondering whether I was meant to invite you into the room."

"_Buon giorno_, _Maestro_ Giovanni." Altaïr responded, utterly unconcerned at having been caught out. "Ezio, look for me later. We have something to discuss."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. "Is this about Rodrigo? I too, would like to know."

Altaïr held Ezio's stare, then he shrugged. "It is not something for the _Maestri_."

"It was a long time in the dungeon," Giovanni said mildly, "And the worst pain of all was knowing that despite it all, my foolish son would come for me, and, very likely, he himself would die in the process. A longer time for my brother before we caught up with him, thinking that he had left us to die in Jerusalem. Yet we begrudge you nothing."

"_La Volpe_ is calling Ezio to Roma," Altaïr said shortly, after an uncomfortable silence.

"And that is not _Maestri_ business?"

Ezio felt a little sorry for Altaïr. "Father-"

Altaïr, however, seemed to have prepared his reasons. "I have held the Apple in my hands before, and I know what it is like. There are precautions. There are also ways you can use it, the way Al Mualim used it. You say your son is immune to the Apple's siren call. I want to see it for myself, but I do not want to do this in front of his father and uncle. Once I am satisfied, I will notify all of the _Maestri _of _La Volpe's_ message."

"I see," Giovanni said, evidently unconvinced but forced to accept the reasoning. "Very well."

"_Fee aman Allah_," Altair inclined his head, exiting silently.

When Altaïr left the room, Ezio sighed. He was not sure of how to reassure his father. "He means no harm, Father."

"Meaning no harm, yet causing it, are two different things, Ezio." Giovanni sighed. "I know that we should take advantage of the grave wound and the chaos that we have caused the Templars, in killing Al Mualim and taking the Apple. And yet I had hoped that some day, when _La Volpe_ found a way to Rodrigo, that I would be there with you."

Silently, Ezio was glad that his father would not be. "You would be needed here as well."

"_Maestro_ Al-Sayf runs Masyaf like clockwork." Giovanni pointed out, though he settled deeper against the wheelchair. "At least Maria is relieved."

"No doubt." Ezio said carefully. Maria Auditore had hidden her fierce joy at his father's safety (and enforced convalescence) well, behind an iron regimen of recovery; it was only Claudia who had been outright furious with the Templar. Ezio supposed that he was glad that Altaïr and Malik had not decided on sanctions, after all.

For this he would have to thank Leonardo, afterwards… even if it meant explaining the kiss…

Grimacing, Ezio nearly missed his father's next words. "Before you speak to the _Maestro_, I want you to remember that we act for the Creed. Not vengeance. And if it is too dangerous, what they ask you to do…"

"I like danger, Father," Ezio pointed out, relieved that his father's probing had missed the mark, and flashing Giovanni a mischievous grin when his father glanced up.

"Ah, and there again you walk your father's path," Giovanni said wryly, shaking his head, his eyes darkening with old pain. "You, myself, Federico, are far too easily bored with what we have in life. If only you were more like your mother, you would be a happier man."

II

"He did not believe you."

The roof of the watchtower was buffeted by a shrill wind, which stole all speech save when the speakers were side by side. Ezio felt somewhat uncomfortable pressed up against someone as dangerous as Altaïr, the both of them leaning against the cracked stone battlements.

"Of course not. If your father did not have good instincts he would not have become a _Maestro_." Altaïr was staring at his hands, his expression unreadable. "Even Malik is beginning to ask some difficult questions."

"You have kept this from _Maestro_ Al-Sayf?"

"Obviously." Altaïr sounded a little offended. "_La Volpe_ asked it of me. And I agree with him. What would you feel if this could be the last year of your life? Things will change."

"The last year of my life…? I suppose I would want to spend it with my loved ones," Ezio mused, and then he made the connection. "You are coming to Roma?"

"Of course I will go to Roma," Altaïr retorted. "The problem would be preventing Malik from coming with me. Just like you are going to have a similar but bigger problem convincing Leonardo to stay here."

"Leonardo has not said anything about Roma," Ezio frowned. "Did he say something to you?"

"If you knew that the world was likely to end, or even if it did not, it would be the last fraction of the hourglass that you had before the one you loved most disappeared forever, where would you be? I think I can deal with Malik, since he does not know, but I do not think you can convince Leonardo."

Ezio groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "I have been on missions while I was here."

"Short missions, and you have always returned."

"What do you suggest that I do?"

"The way I see it, there are three things you can do. One, you can try to lock Leonardo up somewhere, though your family will object and Malik will be suspicious. Two, we can leave in the night, and you can count on him to try and follow by himself. Three, we take him with us."

If Leonardo was locked up, Ezio could be _sure_ that Claudia would do everything in her power to free him. "And you, knowing that the world is likely to end, you and the _Maestro_-"

"It is _likely_ to end, but it is not certain," Altaïr corrected. "Just as there is always a _likely _possibility of death in any of our missions. This will be no different. But for Leonardo it is different. The Ezio of this world is dead, is he not? I would be surprised if Leonardo had not reached the same conclusion, based on the circumstances."

True. "We are really leaving for Roma _now_?"

"_La Volpe_ has convinced a _Maestri_ sequestered on the outskirts of Roma to aid us. I think you are familiar with his name."

"Antonio." Ezio guessed. "What do you mean, 'convinced'?"

"I hear that once Venezia fell, your father convinced Antonio to fight on in Firenze. Once Firenze fell, _Maestro _Antonio took himself and his guild and disappeared. They thought the situation hopeless, and switched their objective to preserving as many of the loyal as there were, and going into hiding. I do not know how _La Volpe_ found them, or how he convinced them."

"You trust the message?"

Instantly, Ezio regretted the words: surely the Assassins would have found a way, especially in this world, to write encrypted messages by now – but Altaïr merely stared at him thoughtfully. "So, what truly happened in Jerusalem?"

"I told you already."

"I know that Al Mualim took my form, and convinced you to take the predetermined path and told _Maestro_ Mario Auditore to return to Masyaf. You said that your father alerted you to the fake before you revealed yourself in the path, and you then killed Al Mualim."

"Yes."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"He said that Rodrigo wanted my head."

"Other than that."

Reluctantly, Ezio told Altaïr about the rest of Al Mualim's words, regarding the operation of the Sight.

"Why did you keep that from the briefing?"

"All of us can use the Sight. It is the basis of our trust." Ezio hedged. "In a time of war, we need absolutes."

"A long time ago, I came to the same conclusions about the operation of Sight as Al Mualim," Altaïr wreathed his fingers together, as though in prayer, as he rested his forehead upon them. "After my trust in it was so badly shaken. We Assassins have spent so long trusting in it that we had forgotten logic and intuition. We spend time researching our enemy, to check the evidence against our Sight, but we spend no time at all with our allies."

"What happened then, at Masyaf, was not your fault."

"Was it? I do not know. I can only ask forgiveness, one day, when I stand before Judgment. But how the Sight operates is now a matter long known to any _Maestri_. It is hardly controversial."

"I did not bring it up," Ezio said uncomfortably, "Because I felt it would be like reopening an old wound, for you."

Altaïr stared at him again, seemingly startled. "You did not mention it because you did not want to _hurt_ me?"

"Well," Ezio said defensively, flushing in embarrassment as the cold logic of day informed him what the sentiment would look like, "I was _also_ light-headed on Leonardo's medications."

"Hah!" Altaïr smiled: faintly, but surprisingly _warm_, so out of place on a face that Ezio had thought could only produce scowls. "I think I see why Malik likes you, why Leonardo adores you. Within your heart there is space for the world and all of its problems. It is a most curious trait, for an Assassin. Anyway," he continued, even though Ezio was gaping at him, openmouthed at such an observation, "the problem of Leonardo."

"He cannot come with us. I will speak with him." Ezio said, a little unsteadily, wishing that his cheeks weren't burning and hoping that the cowl covered his face sufficiently.

"Good luck with that," Altaïr smirked, a clear connoisseur of schadenfreude, and Ezio finally put his finger on what seemed to be _different_ about Altaïr, once his uncle had concluded the debriefing after their return.

It was as though Atlas had lost the weight of the world on his shoulders, if only for a moment, or at least, this far away from hearing or sight, like a chapter had closed. Somewhere within his deeply scarred soul, the _Maestro_ was learning to trust yet another human being.

"So," Ezio said teasingly, deciding to push his luck, "When are you going to thank me for killing Al Mualim?"

Expecting Altaïr to react with irritation, the _Maestro_ only snorted. "You mean, what should I do to you since you have stolen my kill?"

"_Your_ kill? Did you see what he did to my father?"

"What about what he did to Masyaf?" Altaïr's eyes were hidden, but his lips were drawn back into a smirk.

"Oh come on. You want to say it. 'Ezio, you are a great Assassin'."

"Perhaps your ego is the biggest of all," Altaïr poked his nose, his smirk widening as Ezio glared at him indignantly. "You were lucky."

Ezio folded his arms. "You cannot argue with results, old man."

"I am hardly much older than you really are, Ezio. Even if you consistently fail to act your age. Hiding behind someone when you are frightened?"

He was treading on dangerous grounds now, his instincts told him. All the better. "Who was frightened? If I cut you open in front of all those witnesses I think your pride would not have survived it, _Maestro_."

"If you could not beat Malik you cannot beat me," Altaïr returned, unconcerned. "Try a little harder."

"Is that your tacit approval for me to play a little more with _Maestro_ Al-Sayf?" All of Ezio's reflexes were waiting to _react_, to leap away the moment that the smallest shift in the warm frame beside him indicated attack, yet when Altaïr moved, it was still utterly without warning.

More of a brief swipe of flesh against his lips than a kiss, Ezio still flinched back, too shocked even to glare when Altaïr laughed, leaping up lithely onto the battlements and then stepping backwards, seemingly into space. "You are still too young yet to play such games with me, _jameel_."

"Come back here, _bastardo_!" Without hesitating, Ezio followed, from stone into the air, this falling that had ever only felt like flight.

III

"I guess the lessons were not _that_ useful after all," Leonardo said regretfully as they sat in the study room.

"It is always good to learn something new." Ezio was going through a thick roll of sketches that Leonardo had presented him with, one for each day, now that he had the time and mood to properly give Leonardo's work the admiration it deserved. "And it did help, even for Acre."

There were a set of sketches that were purely of horses, the musculature shaded with unerring precision, several regarding the study of Middle Eastern architecture, a handful of Malik and one of Altaïr crouched on a steeple, and one of Mario, unsheathing a blade. Two of Claudia, one in a dress and one in her current preferred outfit, one clearly recent one of Maria pushing Giovanni's wheelchair, their heads bent in conversation. And two detailed sketches, of men he did not recognize but whose features looked familiar.

"Federico," Leonardo pointed. "Petruccio."

Federico was dressed also in assassin whites, his smile quick and dashing under the cowl. Petruccio was pictured in a chair, dressed in a nobleman's vest and breeches, reading a book.

"Petruccio never fully recovered from his condition," Leonardo explained, "But he had a highly tactical mind that your father found useful on occasion."

"In the beginning of my 'world', as I have told you," Ezio said, committing the sketches to his memory, "My father was a banker to his family, and we knew nothing of his work. We were betrayed, my father and brothers hanged by the Pazzi and their conspirators. What was different?"

"Here," Leonardo said, shuffling the other sketches back together, "You were born into war and the service of the Medici. All of you – save Petruccio – have studied the ways of your Creed since the beginning. The Pazzi did act against the Medici using agents from within, but were held off by Federico."

"But Petruccio was not trained."

"No, he was not."

"Then what was he doing in the ambush? _Why_ did he die?"

"It was one of the outposts that your family maintains," Leonardo said slowly, taking the scrolls from Ezio. "Petruccio – like Claudia – had always felt… guilt, that he did not have the constitution to follow the family business. He always liked to follow you, you or Federico, on simple errands. You and Federico made a game of it. The outpost was meant to be friendly. The Templars had quietly taken over it, setting a trap in the warehouse."

"Three of us to scout an outpost?"

"You and Federico were… _bored_," Leonardo sighed. "And you said, this would be Petruccio's first mission. It was meant to be fun. It was meant to be safe. Your uncle was uneasy, but your father agreed."

That likely explained why Giovanni was so cautious about allowing him on difficult missions. Ezio had thought it the language, but a language barrier seemed to be a paltry thing with which to under-utilize a trained killer. "And soon he will have no sons at all."

"You have a year in all… still months to go," Leonardo was twisting one of his sleeves into knots with his fingers. "Must you go _now_?"

"The time we have left is not definite."

"No… I know." Leonardo said unhappily. "I know."

Carefully, Ezio took one of Leonardo's hands in his, turning it palm up and tracing the calluses, the old burn scars from working with molten metals. Beside him, Leonardo tensed, breathless. "I want you to stay here."

"I know that too." Leonardo's determined tone indicated that Altaïr was right after all, on his options. "I will not agree."

"I cannot take you with me all the way to the end."

"The end… you mean Rodrigo? I know if I am there, I will only be in the way. But before that, as far as I can go, I want to be there. Even if there is nothing for me but sorrow."

"And how am I supposed to explain your presence to the _Maestri_?"

"The cannon and improvements to the fortifications can be completed without my presence. In your final assault on Roma, you might as well have as many resources as possible." Leonardo's prompt answer indicated that he had been thinking about this for a while. "Also-"

Leonardo stopped talking the moment Ezio experimentally put his gloved hand on his friend's thigh, inching it slowly upwards, lowering his tone, inviting and husky. "Are you sure that I cannot persuade you?"

"You… you do not actually _want_ to touch me. So… so stop pretending."

Blushing and stuttering, his eyes glued on Ezio's glove, Leonardo was… _adorable_. "If it is something I can give you in exchange for a promise to stay here, that could change."

Leonardo exhaled, taking Ezio firmly by the wrist and depositing his glove back in his lap. "I am not like the women you are used to, Ezio. If you are going to Roma then I am coming with you – or after you. I will not slow you down."

"But the whole way, I will have to worry about you!"

"Then we will be even. Each time you leave, I worry about _you_."

Ezio groaned, folding his arms under his head and slumping on the table. "I am going to ask _Maestro_ Al-Sayf to have you imprisoned."

"Why? He will be coming as well." Leonardo said, puzzled. At Ezio's expression, he added, "No one told him anything. But Rodrigo stands at the apex of the Templars. If we go to direct war against him, _Maestro_ Al-Sayf will come."

"_Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad said that convincing him not to would not be a problem."

"We'll see," Leonardo said, patting Ezio reassuringly on the shoulder as the assassin groaned again. Come to think of it… he couldn't quite write off Malik so easily either. "Besides, what would be the problem? _Maestro_ Al-Sayf is a better swordsman than y-"

"That was a draw!"

-tbc… oh yes, I think I forgot to acknowledge previously: the Arabic is from .com/ :3 For FFNET users, the URL will not show, so: the username is 'faizateachesyouarabic', and the domain is blogspot. Also, Altaïr can't stay angry-pissed-bitter for so many chapters, as fun as it was to write. The man would get white hair at that rate O_o-


	12. Chapter 12

[A/N: Originally I hadn't intended to move past Masyaf/use any other characters, but it looks like I somehow wrote myself into it. -_- Wish I'd killed off Antonio/Rosa instead of Bartolomeo… haha.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 12

I

"_La Volpe_ has arranged for a ship to pick us up from Latakia," Altaïr said, pointing at the location on the map. "We will stop at some ports to resupply, and then land at Ortona and proceed overland to Roma. Once we leave Latakia we will be in Templar territory."

"Try not to pass too close to L'Aquila," Mario stabbed his finger over the city. "There is a strong Templar presence there."

"There are still operational towns along the way," Giovanni said, using a quill to mark out points on the map, "But many of them either have a nominal Templar presence or will be too destitute or frightened to offer any help. Trade, however, is still present in Italia, so you should be able to pass as a group of merchants."

"If you trade in cotton or sugar that should be common enough," Mario continued.

"We will not have enough men or cotton to make such a guise believable. We will need multiple caravans," Malik disagreed. "Perhaps gold or silver thread, or metalwork would be better."

Planning at this level of intricacy tended to bore Ezio, and so he kept silent at his father's side as the argument between the _Maestri_ drew back and forth, wondering whether or not he should excuse himself. He was not sure why he had been invited to the meeting, and was already heartily tired of it.

In the end he had capitulated to Leonardo, much to his irritation. He could not risk Leonardo coming after him, unprotected against the Templar. At least accompanied by himself, Altaïr and… possibly Malik… Leonardo should be fairly safe, and he had already discussed the matter further with his father.

Deep down, Ezio had to admit that he was relieved. He had never spent very long without Leonardo's presence, even in the 'true' world. Leonardo was his best friend and ultimately, his closest confidante. Given what he was about to do, it would be comforting to have Leonardo beside him.

"… any questions, Ezio?" Malik asked.

"Uh, no," Ezio said quickly, blinking. His father stifled a chuckle, even as Altaïr rolled his eyes and Mario looked away.

"No questions regarding dressing up as a woman in the interests of disguise?"

"_What_."

Mario coughed, even as Giovanni laughed outright and Altaïr put a hand over his eyes. "My son, might I stress that this mission would likely be the most important one of your career?"

"I would _highly_ object to-"

"The actual question, Ezio," Giovanni said dryly, "Was whether you had any questions regarding the choice of route."

"I trust the judgment of my elders, Father," Ezio said, shooting Malik a dirty look. "I have no questions."

"I hear that Leonardo will be accompanying you," Mario said seriously, "Is that wise? He is not trained in combat."

"If you have any suggestions to stop him from coming along, please let me know, uncle," Ezio said, with a deep sigh.

"Why is he so interested in this mission? You have been on missions."

"He, ah, he is _worried_," Ezio said quickly, tripped up by Mario's own sharpened instincts. "Rodrigo is a powerful foe, and up until now we have not been able to find any way to get close enough to kill him. So Leonardo has insisted."

"Foolishness. Powerful foe or not, there is little that an engineer can do to tilt the balance," Mario rumbled, looking dissatisfied. "I thought matters… resolved, between the two of you, _nipote_."

"Not entirely, uncle."

"Oh?"

"Leonardo can also be useful," Malik interjected, much to Ezio's relief, saving him from having to grope for a suitable answer. "He has proven this use before, has he not, in devising ingenious methods of attack and stealth? Perhaps his insight can provide important input."

"You do indeed need all the help you can get." Mario agreed gruffly, with an irritable gesture at his walking stick. "Masyaf has the Shield; the Auditore have Leonardo. The Templar have tried their best to get their hands on either. So I hope that you do not take your decision lightly, _nipote_."

"Outside of my family Leonardo remains the most important person to me, uncle," Ezio pointed out, unable to back down due to Leonardo's decisions. "If he wants to come to Roma with us, if I cannot persuade him to stay in Masyaf, he will be safe with me."

"You will be traveling light, with none of the _condottieri_," Giovanni said mildly, "So _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad has decided. It will help you steal into Italia more easily."

"Good." Ezio agreed. "Three men will be able to get close to Roma far less noticeably than an army. Even if it means we will not be able to pretend at merchants. Perhaps we can simply be pilgrims instead."

"What do you mean, three men?" Malik asked, without even looking up, and Ezio met Altaïr's eyes from behind his father's back, flashing the _Maestro_ a grin of mischief and ignoring the way Altaïr's brow creased faintly into a frown.

"Myself, _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad, and Leonardo, _si_?"

"Pay attention, Ezio," Malik said dryly, still making notes on a piece of parchment beside the map, "I said 'we'."

"So you did. I thought that was just you being inclusive," Ezio winked at _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad, who glared at him before turning to regard his partner.

"Malik, you are needed here."

"Both of you Auditore _Maestri_ are in Masyaf on enforced rest. You are more than capable of undertaking my usual duties." Malik said, with a brief smile at Mario, who looked somewhat taken aback.

"Neither Giovanni or myself would wish to usurp any of your authority."

"_Maestro_ Mario, it has been months since your arrival in Masyaf, and that has never been in question." Malik said soothingly. "I wished merely to ask the both of you to take care of Masyaf for a while. As you have said, Ezio and Altaïr will need all the help they can get."

"I… suppose so," Mario said grudgingly, exchanging a glance with his brother. "Given that you are better than my _nipote_ at swordplay-"

"_Uncle_."

"So you see, Altaïr, there is no problem." Malik said, his tone gentle but his stare challenging. Altaïr held it for a long moment, then he grit his teeth and glanced down at the compass on the table.

"We will discuss this later."

"If I may be honest, _Maestro_, I would be more comfortable with the mission if I knew that _Maestro_ Al-Sayf was accompanying my son," Giovanni ventured, seemingly oblivious to Altaïr's murderous glance. "Call it a father's indulgence, but the _Maestro_ has a talent for detail, strategy and organization. I would be pleased if my son could learn _something_ from further association in the field. Even a little maturity would not go amiss."

Ezio pinched at the bridge of his nose briefly, for patience, even as Malik said amiably, "You are too kind, _Maestro_ Giovanni."

"Perhaps you could polish his footwork as well," Mario grunted. "Do not look at me like that, _nipote_. You have been training with _condottieri_ for too long, and I have no time to truly assist you. You fight with little finesse, all instinct, brute strength and reaction. A long sea journey with _Maestro_ Al-Sayf and ibn La-Ahad would do you some good."

"_Thank_ you for your vote of confidence, uncle," Ezio said sarcastically. Everyone seemed to be against him, sometimes.

"So that is three of us in favor, Altaïr," Malik smiled, tapping his quill briefly against his lips.

Altaïr's cool stare indicated that the _Maestro_ knew all too well that he had been maneuvered into this, where any objection on his part would likely be seen as emotional, overprotective or irrational and therefore would be overruled. Still, he was stubborn. "I will speak with you _later_."

"You are welcome to _try_." Malik said, unconcerned, dipping the quill into an inkpot.

II

After a dinner arrayed on a rooftop with his sister, reminiscing, Ezio located his father in the selfsame study. Giovanni didn't seem to have moved, poring over reports in the lamplight. A long-cooled bowl of lamb _kabsa_ lay mostly untouched at a corner of the table, a glass of water nearly drained.

"Mother will scold," Ezio tapped the bowl.

"It is the nature of women to scold," Giovanni countered, though he grudgingly ate a spoonful, his eyes still fixed on parchment. "Marry one and find out."

"No thank you," Ezio shuddered at the thought, reaching behind his father's back to confiscate the scrolls, pushing the bowl before him, then sitting on the desk to look through the papers. Most of the reports involved patrol routes and Templar movements in the region, dry but necessary reading for a traveling Assassin. "We have discussed these already. At great, great length."

"I noticed that you were bored," Giovanni was eating mechanically. "Try not to yawn so loudly next time, Ezio. If you want people to stop calling you 'child', then act your age."

"There is absolutely _no_ fun in being so serious." Ezio picked a random sheaf of parchment in the stack and skimmed it: a report on Latakia and the safe houses within it. Fascinating. "Life is short and brutal and so it should be enjoyed."

"Try to observe _Maestro_ Al-Sayf closely during the journey. I do _truly_ hope that his maturity will affect you. I was double-checking the route against the reports."

"I _can_ be mature, Father." It was simply better to play the child around his father… while he still _could_. "I notice you did not apply the same stamp of approval to _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad."

"That one is a little too much like you."

"He _is_ the famous one."

"That does not necessarily mean he is any better." Giovanni shot back. "I do not know what sort of scheme he and _La Volpe_ have embroiled you in, but I do not like it, particularly since _Maestro_ Al-Sayf does not seem aware of it."

"I am sure he is _very_ aware of it," Ezio disagreed, if vaguely. Malik was highly perceptive.

"Just not about the details?" Giovanni said wearily, tapping his spoon against the edge of the wooden bowl. "If you have given your word to keep whatever it is from the rest of us, I will accept your judgment, Ezio. But _per favore_, come back safely."

"Do not worry, father," Ezio hedged, his back turned to his father as he pretended to read the scrolls in his hand. "Am I not the best assassin here? After all, _I _killed Al Mualim."

"Indisputably the assassin with the largest ego, no doubt." Giovanni chuckled. "Whatever happens, my son, whatever you do, whoever you become, know that your mother and I are proud of you."

For a long, uncomfortable moment, Ezio was at a total loss for words. Swallowing the urge to break down and tell his father everything, he forced a smile, even as his eyes stung. "_Grazie_, Father. That means more to me than you will know."

III

They slowed to a trot once out of Masyaf's territory, wary of attracting unwanted attention. Assassin whites folded neatly in their backpacks, they were dressed as mercenaries instead, all haphazard, well-worn mail and leather borrowed from Mario's _condottieri_. Leonardo's hair was hidden under a gray cowl, and his friend looked uncomfortable in his armor, unused to the weight.

_Maestro_ Al-Sayf rode in front, beside a clearly sulking Altaïr, the semblance of an arm under his usually empty sleeve provided by a lightweight, hollow wood and metal construction from Leonardo, the jointed 'fingers' padded and tucked into a glove, which was in turn fastened discreetly to the pommel of Malik's saddle with tiny hooks that dug into the leather, the arm strapped to the stump of Malik's missing arm and secured by other straps that ran across his chest under his robes.

It was quite ingenious, and Ezio remarked this to Leonardo. His friend smiled, pleased, though his tone was self-deprecating. "It was the best I could do in short notice. _Maestro_ Al-Sayf needed a somewhat more elaborate disguise than the rest of us."

"No doubt." The artificial arm was fragile, the semblance of flesh under the robes given by cunningly shaped, thick flat strips of carved wood, jointed at the 'elbow' and then at the wrist, overlaid by a fine metal mesh to make the artificial arm look more natural under Malik's clothes. At each joint were screws that could be tightened or loosened to keep the arm in a set position, and with Leonardo's obsessive attention to detail, even the fingers looked fairly realistic when sheathed in the leather glove.

"You were… well, the past few days?" Leonardo asked, more quietly. "With your family."

"I have made my peace." It was not easy keeping up a semblance of normality: only so much of his attentions could be explained on the natural anxiety before a long, difficult mission. Even his _mother_ had told him not to worry, tried to comfort him with her quiet confidence. It was difficult to face, the knowledge that he was set to lose them all over again, and yet, it was necessary.

"I am sorry, Ezio."

"I still have family in the… other place," Ezio shook his head, pitching his tone soft to match Leonardo's. Malik and Altaïr were some distance away, enough that the hooves of their horses would mask his words. "Family that needs me more than… here." Where his mother and sister were both dependents, one lost in her own mind and the other untutored in the ways of the world, his uncle ageing and without an heir.

Leonardo's eyes were pleading: _I need you here_ – the words all the clearer for their silence, and he forced a smile. "Yes. Of course."

"I can't stay here, Leonardo. You heard _La Volpe_."

"I know," Leonardo said wanly, "So I will not _ask_, but it will not stop me from _wishing_."

Ezio exhaled. "Leonardo, before the end, any free time I can spare, I will spend it with-"

"No, Ezio. If it is for company… gladly will I welcome your presence. But please, save your pity." Leonardo's fingers were curled tight over the reins. "I have loved and been loved by you for a precious set of years. It is just difficult, learning to let go."

"This is you letting go?" Ezio said, unable to stop himself from teasing his friend.

"_Learning_," Leonardo pointed out, though he smiled a little self-consciously. "Trying to enjoy what little time there is left to me, instead of drowning in it."

Something in Ezio _finally_ broke, under the anvil of the finality of his silent farewells to his family over the past few days, under the hammer of his determination for the future waiting in Roma. Impulsively, Ezio reached out and grasped Leonardo's wrist, slipping his fingers up until their hands were clasped and squeezing tight. When Leonardo looked up at him, startled, Ezio squeezed his hand again before letting go.

"It will not be pity."

"What else could it be? Pity, or charity." Leonardo tilted his head. "Though, I think you have not been with a woman since, ah, we first met, as it were, on the journey to Masyaf."

"No," Ezio admitted, somewhat defensively. "I spent _most_ of my time in Masyaf."

"And? There are women in Masyaf," Leonardo said, with a grin.

"I do not touch any of the women in Monteriggioni, who are the Auditore's responsibility along with the other non-combatants," Ezio said, irritable at Leonardo's prying. "It feels wrong. And as to the Muslim women, _sharia_ makes it complicated. I am not comfortable touching a woman who can be whipped or stoned to death for adultery, or killed by her family for their 'honor'." He sighed, remembering the veiled women in the garden. "Though it _is_ a pity. There were quite a few beauties."

"Hah, I know," Leonardo said dryly. "I think the concept of marriage is more akin to a contract in their custom. I have had a few offers."

"Really?" Ezio asked, surprised and – admittedly – uncomfortable. "Do you know that you would have to convert to their religion?"

"You cannot _seriously_ think I was considering it," Leonardo retorted, though he seemed amused.

"Uh… no, of course not." Ezio glared at Leonardo. Admittedly, he was also a _little_ envious. Not that he would have accepted, of course. Marriage was an alien concept. "I, uh, know your preferences anyway."

"It is a very real pity that men cannot marry," Leonardo murmured.

"Of _course_ they cannot."

"And why not?"

Taken aback by the direct question, Ezio frowned. "Well, marriage is a union between a man and a woman."

"And why is that?"

"Sodomy is forbidden."

"Putting the _act_ aside, and looking, as a lawyer would put it, at the _mens rea_, the mental state, would you accept that marriage is not about sex?"

"It is a rather large _part_ of the matter. Or rather, it is more about the denial of sex," Ezio said dryly, "Tying yourself to one woman. But no, before we argue, no, it is not meant to be, I suppose."

"Setting aside marriages of convenience or of power, ideally, intrinsically, marriage should be like the one your parents share," Leonardo pointed out, his eyes bright with the fervor of philosophical argument. "It is a bond of love. Would we agree?"

"Setting aside what usually happens realistically, yes."

"You are so cynical, _caro mio_," Leonardo said wryly, and then he blushed and pulled his cowl quickly over his cheeks as he registered his slip.

"What about religion?" Ezio asked, pretending not to notice. "It is a union under God."

"And yet, marriage happens across religions, across faiths and races. So it would seem to be more of a _human_ matter, rather than a divine one. Faith should have nothing to do with it."

"Then, if it is a human matter, if the majority of people think it should not be, then it should not be."

"So if most people think that something is right, then it is right?"

"Logically."

"You _yourself_ do things that are generally considered wrong, Ezio," Leonardo said dryly. "Murder is rather taboo."

"As it should be," Ezio countered, refusing to acknowledge the point. "In most cases. I would say it depends on your… that Latin phrase you used. _Mens rea_."

"Then do you think my love for you is wrong, Ezio? Immoral or evil, perhaps?"

"_No_," Ezio stressed, irritable. "When have I ever said… and anyway, we were talking about _marriage_."

"So we were," Leonardo said, though his lips curled briefly. "Taking the point that marriage is about love, and there is nothing evil about love between men, or between women, _logically_ speaking…?"

"If the world was a perfect world and the majority accepted that point of view… then yes, logically speaking, there should not be a problem. But there are no perfect worlds, and I think most people will think it evil."

"Even if it hurts no one."

"Even so."

"And why do you think that so?"

"Because there are no children?" Ezio hazarded.

"Many marriages between men and women do not result in children; or they do, and the children are sold, abused, abandoned or neglected."

"Well then," Ezio said slowly, "It is because it is _different_."

"_Exactly_. It is different. So it is unacceptable." What was visible of Leonardo's smile seemed infinitely sad.

"Leonardo-"

"Take yourself, for example. When we kiss, when we touch, there is _something_. A spark. You will be lying to me if you tell me there is none."

"Fine," Ezio admitted grudgingly. "But even from… where I came, you are considered the most beautiful man in Italia. So it would be… natural."

"Hah," Leonardo grinned at that, if fleetingly, even as Ezio silently cursed his hasty attempt at logic. "But there is something there. No, Ezio, _listen_, before you give me any more excuses. I too have made my peace. I know that after Roma, you will not return. I will not ask you to stay. I am as much in love with you as you are now as I was with you as you were then: to me, you are one and the same. Yet even with all of this presented to you, you still push me away. Why is that?"

"I… because…" Ezio began, hesitant. Reason seemed to elude him, as he thought backwards, to the very beginning, when he had first kissed _this_ Leonardo, hard and hungry, before Masyaf, more than Leonardo had asked for; when he was… _jealous_ of Altaïr; when he had been so easily coaxed into _want_ by Leonardo's skilled attentions; when his first choice of persuading Leonardo to see things his way was to kiss him. His immediate conclusion disconcerted him. "I am not sure."

"Because it is _different_," Leonardo said softly. "And therefore, unacceptable. Changing an idea takes time, and time I do not have. So be assured, Ezio: with that too, I have made my peace. I am here not because of some sort of last minute, desperate hope for conciliation but to support you as much as I can until the end."

Ezio tried to feel relieved, or _grateful, _but there was only a distinct, irrational sense of cold discomfort. "_Amico mio_…"

Leonardo was already looking forward, over the wide, dusty road before them. "The others are getting far ahead. We had best catch up."

-tbc: I was wondering whether or not to write large sections of fluff about Ezio spending the last few days with his family but I ended up waffling over Part 2 for the past few days and got bored. So let's just assume he had a great time. RE _sharia_, Islam condemns honor killings, but it happens.

Also, readers who have followed my journal for the last couple of years might have expected the conversation in Part III. Prop 8 is doing the rounds in the Californian Court right now. : ) though I don't agree with many of the grounds raised by the anti gay marriage lobby, I'm not sure this should be decided in Court compared to at the vote. Still, good luck to the No on 8 lobby! And for those who have no idea whatsoever about Prop 8 – wiki/google is your friend! : )

And yes, it won't be one sided all the way… this chapter is the final part of the groundwork (ya, like finally huh).-


	13. Chapter 13

[A/N: ugggh with work and commissions I really have so little time. XD;; Still meant to give Second World a thorough edit… a kind reviewer pointed out a few more errors with the Italian.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 13

I

The Assassin's Bureau in Latakia was stiflingly hot, and smelled pervasively of fish. A scribe's shop, albeit with the more traditional lattice roof entry, with a pretty, rectangular sandstone garden complete with a set of cushions and a miniature waterfall.

Altaïr and Malik had abandoned Ezio and Leonardo in the Bureau on the pretext that their skin color, features and eyes would be too noticeable even in the port town, and were out on Assassin business, and even the _rafiq_ had retired to the shop front proper, where he carried out his cover business as a scribe, translating letters and writing others for illiterate sailors. They were alone.

Heartily bored, Ezio tried sleeping. It was too hot to do his exercises, hot enough that he had already stripped to his breeches and boots and sprawled facedown over the cushions. Leonardo had kept an undershirt, and seemed to be reading books on philosophy provided by the scribe _rafiq_, cross-legged on a cushion, so absorbed that he was oblivious to the world.

"_Why_ is the ship late?"

"That is the sixth time you have asked, Ezio," Leonardo said absently, turning a page. "Your questions will not make it arrive any faster."

"Will night come faster if I complain?"

A quick, indulgent grin. "No."

"I think this is punishment," Ezio moaned, "From that _bastardo_ ibn La-Ahad. He has been giving me the evil eye since that _Maestri_ meeting where Malik said he would be coming. It is too hot to do anything and I am dying of boredom."

"There are one or two books here that are in Italian."

"I do not feel like reading. This world's Ezio spent a lot of time with you, that is what my sister said. Surely he was just as easily bored. How did you keep him entertained?"

"Do you _really_ want to know, Ezio?" Leonardo said dryly, and Ezio's heat-sodden brain grudgingly kicked up a few less-than-comfortable memories involving Leonardo's weight against him, his wrists caught under his friend's iron fingers, Leonardo's lips pressed against his neck.

Turning facedown onto the pillows to hide his flush, Ezio muttered, "Uh… no."

Chuckling, Leonardo relented. "What did… your Leonardo do with you? Or did you not visit him?"

"I did! Often. Though it was usually about Codex pages. Or medical aid."

"Codex pages…?"

"Ah, I suppose, well, since this world's Altaïr does not have the Apple, they won't exist here. They were encrypted pages, Altaïr's journal. You were the only one able to read them so easily."

"But other than that, nothing?"

"No, we talk, sometimes, but we are… were… both very busy." Ezio said defensively. "Sometimes we play chess. Or rather, we play chess in the sense that you trounce me at chess."

"And you enjoy that?"

"I like challenge."

"I played chess with you in _this_ world… twice, I think," Leonardo said quietly, turning another page. "There was never so much time."

The wistfulness in Leonardo's tone pushed Ezio to his feet, and he padded over towards the Bureau counter. He had seen a familiar sliver of wooden checks under a slender box and an urn, when Malik had all but shoved them into the Bureau's backroom and ordered them to _sit_ and _stay_. Rooting it out and checking the box above it, he was pleased to see that it was a set, one that he had seen also in Masyaf, where 'black' was indicated by wood that was merely stained a shade darker.

Leonardo frowned as Ezio placed the cracked board before him and began to put the pieces into their place. "Ezio?"

"Entertain me. Do you want white or black?"

"Either is fine. I am rusty," Leonardo, however, closed the book, which Ezio took to be a good sign. "Very rusty."

"Good, then maybe I have a chance." Ezio finished setting the pieces, with Leonardo as white. He had always liked to see how Leonardo opened.

The fourth white pawn from Ezio's right skipped forward two spaces. "How often did you play?"

"When we are both free… which is not very often. Perhaps once or twice a month, before Lorenzo was killed, if I was in Venezia. More, afterwards. It was a quieter time, waiting to see if we would continue to pledge allegiance to the Medici." Ezio moved the pawn before his king forwards one space.

Leonardo picked up the knight on his right. "I did not know you enjoyed chess. Here, you never told me." His friend's tone was brittle, as though the discovery of another aspect to Ezio that Leonardo had not known about pained him: reminded him starkly of what he had lost, and what he would lose again, perhaps.

Ezio moved the third pawn from his right forward two spaces. "I used to play against Federico. He was not as good as you, so we were fairly even. Playing chess reminded me of him. Here, this world's Ezio did not need to be reminded."

"I suppose you are right." Leonardo murmured, as though to himself, taking the pawn before his king forward a space to defend his queen's pawn. "Then playing is not painful for you?"

"No. They were good memories. Also, playing against you tended to be entertaining. You kept becoming distracted, walking off during my turns to sketch or make endless adjustments to your contraptions. And yet, all your moves would be so brilliant." Ezio mirrored Leonardo's knight with his own.

"Entertaining, or frustrating?" Leonardo scratched at his unshaven chin, staring hard at the board.

"Both. It is not an uncommon emotion around you." Ezio watched Leonardo's fingers as they pushed up to press against his pursed lips, then walking themselves over delicate cheekbones to push back a lick of dusty bronze hair behind an ear. With an air of concentration, Leonardo moved the bishop on his right up, under his foremost pawn.

Ezio skipped the pawn before the knight on his right forward a step, into defense, and Leonardo abruptly laughed. "Have you played this set up against me before?"

"Maybe." Ezio smirked, caught in the act.

"Your choices are so quick." Leonardo mused, "A great many games we have played, I think."

"Yes."

"Yet a great chess player thinks in a multiplicity of moves in advance, who can plan and yet react with insight and creativity. Somehow, this does not seem to translate to your chosen vocation."

"I can react with insight and creativity," Ezio retorted, stifling the urge to pout. "I have enough lectures from everyone else under the sun about my weapon skills. Please, not you as well."

Leonardo castled. "So, how many times have you won?"

"Did I not say you used to trounce me?"

"You have _never_ won?"

"Well, there was _once_, but you were drunk," Ezio admitted, "Drunk enough not to notice when I pocketed one of the pieces."

"So you won when you _cheated_."

"You were the one who insisted on playing chess while drunk." Ezio moved the bishop on his right. "I was drunk too, so we are even."

"An odd logic, Ezio." Leonardo moved his other knight under his bishop and scratching again at his chin when Ezio instantly took his first pawn in response. "Ah… could you at least put on a shirt?"

"Why?"

"It is getting a little harder to think more than ten moves ahead."

"You are usually not concentrating anyway and you still beat me." Ezio said, unrepentant, watching as Leonardo took his pawn in response, and moved up his second bishop. He had never been self-conscious of his body. "It is too hot, so I refuse. Think of it as a handicap."

Leonardo drew the castle on his right out to the open space, and Ezio immediately castled. His friend chuckled again. "Then you are doubly cheating, Ezio. You know this game, and you know the effect you have on me."

"Why, do you think this will work back in my time? I should try it," Ezio said, teasingly, and smirking as Leonardo's brow furrowed instantly. It was quite amusing how his friend continued to be uncomfortable… even _jealous _of the thought that Ezio would be returning to his time and to 'another' Leonardo. "Want to wager?"

"A wager?" Leonardo slid the second pawn on his left forward a space and leant back as Ezio pushed forward the pawn before his queen.

"If I win, I am going out. Help me think of something if the others come back early or if the _rafiq_ checks on us."

"And if I win?" Leonardo edged his queen up a diagonal, pursing his lips again as Ezio moved the castle on his left in response. A knight retreated between the white king and castle, and Ezio took his black knight before his black queen.

"One kiss," Ezio suggested playfully.

Leonardo sighed loudly, placing his knights together. "_Ezio_."

Ezio moved back his bishop, and then held up both his hands. "Genuine offer. Not in the interests of cheating. Much."

"Do you not remember that conversation on the road?"

"_Si_, I do," Ezio said soberly. "I thought about it. I am… curious what it might be like, in circumstances that do not force either of our hands, but-"

"But you want a suitably immature reason that your conscience can accept?" Leonardo asked dryly.

"If you want to put it that way, you can bet on something else."

"Ezio, Ezio." Leonardo looked down at the board, his long fingers hovering over a knight, and then he smiled, slowly, and when he glanced up again, his eyes were dark with an unnerving, unreadable intensity. "Deal."

As the white bishop moved instead of the knight that Ezio had expected, slipping aggressively up the diagonal to threaten his knight, Ezio wondered if he _should_ have foreseen this.

The game swiftly became new and ruthless, culminating in a set of forced moves on Ezio's part, and in the thrill of the game he forgot the wager, defending the best he could and trying to predict Leonardo's next move, his mouth cupped in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Leonardo, on the other hand, seemed to relax as Ezio slowed, even _chuckling_ as Ezio was forced to use his king to take his castle.

When, perhaps inevitably, he lost in the face of a checkmate both brilliant and beautiful in its elegance, Ezio slouched back on the cushions, massaging the cramp on his shoulder that he had just noticed. "Queen sacrifice, epaulette mate. I thought you said you were rusty."

"Someone gave me a good incentive to concentrate." Leonardo said, a little hesitantly, evidently thinking that Ezio might go back on his word.

Ezio continued to stare up at the lattice ceiling, thinking. "You said that it was possible that the only reason I did not want to _try_ was because it was _different_."

"Not in so many words. I did say also," Leonardo murmured, as he reset the pieces conscientiously, "That I had made my peace. I will gladly trade my part of the wager for your continued good behavior, Ezio. If either of the _Maestri_ catch you wandering around Latakia, they will be most displeased."

"It is not as if I am _unused_ to their displeasure," Ezio pointed out, though he made his decision, rolling up onto his knees and slinking over to Leonardo's side, slipping an arm around Leonardo's waist as the engineer froze in place.

"Ez-" Ezio curled his other hand into Leonardo's hair and pressed their lips together, tentatively, then purring and licking into Leonardo's mouth as the engineer shuddered and pressed against him, beautiful long fingers curling hesitantly over Ezio's shoulders, and then sweeping back to wrap into the assassin's tresses as Ezio used his weight to push them down over the cushions.

This felt… _good_, Ezio decided, with Leonardo moaning so prettily between their shared breaths and twisting so distractingly against him; Leonardo was _hard_, pressed against the jut of Ezio's hip and arching with a whine as Ezio moved to straddle him, their bodies grinding urgently together, instinct and reaction, and Ezio thrust his tongue down Leonardo's throat, swallowing his wounded cries.

They were suspended in time, in place, his cares temporarily beneath him as Leonardo began to stroke his back, tentative at first, his fingers shaking, then boldly, rubbing his thumbs over clearly memorized scars, making Ezio twitch and gasp wetly between them. Skilled hands, with Leonardo's obsession with detail, turned Ezio's purrs into hungry growls, all but wrenching off Leonardo's shirt, one of the assassin's hands curled tight over a shoulder, the other blindly fumbling for Leonardo's breeches.

To his surprise, Leonardo caught his wrist quickly. "Leo… Leonardo?"

The engineer was panting, his shirt soaked in sweat and plastered to his lithe frame, flushed and clearly, painfully aroused, squirming on the cushions, and Ezio wanted nothing more than to kiss him again, light headed with _want_ and gladly drowning in the rush of easy lust. "Not… not like this."

"Like what?" Ezio growled, liquid with _want_, and Leonardo's fingers tightened over his wrist even as he took in a deep, unsteady breath.

"So sudden… I need to know," Leonardo said harshly, "This is too… _you_ are too important to me, I cannot just… I will not… not like _that_ time…"

"Leonardo, calm down." Ezio sighed, rolling onto his side and pulling Leonardo up against him, petting his naked back, soothing. "Think, and then explain. With understandable words, _per favore_."

Leonardo shook against him, his breath heaving, and for a moment, Ezio was afraid that the engineer was _crying_. He could never handle that. Before he could string together the words to ask circumspectly, however, Leonardo whispered, "If… if you tell me, that this is 'just this once, never again', I cannot-"

"What made you think I was going to say that?" Ezio muttered, tilting up Leonardo's chin and staring into dark eyes glazed with tears. Disconcerted, Ezio asked, warily, "You mean, _previously_, I said that?"

"It is like a cycle," Leonardo jerked his chin out of his grip, pushing his face against Ezio's shoulder. "Again, it all happens _again_, and it is so late. It is too _late_, and you will be _leaving_."

"Not for a while yet," Ezio said automatically, and kicked himself for saying it as Leonardo trembled; but even as Ezio dug tried and tested words of comfort from his mind, the hands against his back curled tightly into fists, and Leonardo leant up, his parted lips begging for a kiss that Ezio found himself all too happy to give.

II

"I take it Leonardo is yours again," Malik observed, as they circled in the stone garden.

This early in the morning, at least the air was crisp and chill. Leonardo was still asleep, in their tiny, borrowed rooms, but outside in the port town, the sounds of waking commerce as fishermen came ashore with their catches were enough to drown the sounds of their blades crossing. Behind Ezio, Altaïr slouched against the Bureau counter, watching silently.

"Leonardo does not belong to anyone," Ezio corrected, taking care to study Malik's footwork as his uncle had suggested. Ego aside, he was always happy to improve.

The two _Maestri_, thankfully not including the _rafiq_, had happened upon Ezio and Leonardo sleeping, half naked and the rest of their clothing in dishabille, while curled around each other on the cushions, a half-finished chess game beside them, and had instantly drawn their conclusions. Remarkably _inaccurate_ conclusions, Ezio had to add, despite his protests. Admittedly, Leonardo's blushing and stammering had not been _particularly_ helpful either in painting an innocent picture.

"Stubborn. Just like Altaïr is stubborn." Malik jerked his head briefly in Altaïr's direction. "Come at me again. This time, with a little more forethought. If you can play chess against Leonardo I think you _should_ be capable of forethought, _si_?"

"What do you mean, forethought?"

"In chess you try to predict moves ahead of your opponent," Malik explained patiently, even as Altaïr muttered something darkly under his breath in Arabic. "_This_ should be the same. It is not all about reacting. It is about trying to find the most economical checkmate. With enough practice, it should be subconscious."

Ezio recalled Malik and Altaïr during the sparring match, where Malik had unerringly known where Altaïr would be. "Does _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad fight like this?"

"Of course he does. It is the way we are trained in Masyaf. And speaking of Masyaf, we are far away from the fortress, Ezio. So remember what we said about names." Malik said, dodging Ezio's lunge and darting around him, raising his blade to deflect a slash, then parrying a second and slapping the flat of his blade smartly against Ezio's hip. "All of you Italians – even your father and uncle – can be so stubborn about formality. For months I have tried, and it is still _Maestro_ this, _Maestri_ that."

Ezio did not add that it felt strange to be on a first name basis with someone who had effectively been his idol since his uncle had first introduced him to the underground passage in Monteriggioni. "Uh… I suppose so."

"Try remembering, then." Their blades met again, in a slither of steel, crossing between their faces, "Watch your footing. Brace yourself."

"What was yesterday's mission about?" Ezio used his greater strength to force Malik's blade back and off-balance, and as the _Maestro_ took a step back, he smacked Malik's across the face and brought down his blade, keeping a wary eye on Altaïr as the _Maestro_ tensed. Malik's blade intercepted his, an inch before his shoulder, parrying neatly.

"Latakia is a good place for information. What we sought was not related to Roma, but to the void left in this region now that Al Mualim is gone. Altair and I needed to send instructions to Masyaf. That is partly why we did not invite you along with us," Malik shrugged. "That was good. But had I both of my arms, it would not have worked."

"I know," Ezio admitted, with a grin of mischief. "You have a little trouble balancing. That is why your footwork is so beautiful. You try to compensate."

" 'Beautiful'?" Malik repeated, amused, again darting around Ezio as he lunged. Ezio managed to avoid the first slice, but not the second, the flat of Malik's blade smacking lightly over his lower back. "What a strange word to use. You Italians."

"Malik," Altaïr pushed away from the counter. "Let me take over."

"He will not learn anything from _you_," Malik circled again at a lunge, kicking at the back of Ezio's knee. As it gave, Ezio rolled instantly and up onto his feet, only to freeze as he felt Altaïr's hidden blade against his throat, from behind him. Malik lowered his blade, though his smile was one of fond exasperation. "_You_ have never bothered to_ teach_. You just crush those who are foolhardy enough to ask you to spar."

"He is not listening to _you_ either." The blade withdrew, and Ezio flinched and growled as a four-fingered hand patted his rump briefly, almost proprietarily. "He is just treating this like play. If it was a little more dangerous perhaps he would pay attention."

"I do not want Ezio cut to ribbons without the mission having even truly _started_," Malik said dryly, though he sheathed his blade and moved around to the Bureau counter.

"Fine. I will not use a blade." Altair walked past into the garden proper, beckoning. "Try to scratch me, Ezio."

"Is he trying to insult me?" Ezio asked Malik, a little irritable at the presumption. Surely he was not _this_ lacking.

"Try to bleed him first, friend Ezio," Malik suggested, with a secretive smile that Ezio decided that he did not like in the least.

True enough, an all too short time later, Ezio was pressed to the sandstone floor, his right arm twisted around him and Altair seated on his back, the blade a couple of metres out of reach.

"Again," Altair decided.

"I do not think I learned anything, _Maestro_," Ezio said breathlessly. His elbow ached painfully where Altair had slammed the edge of his palm, and the older assassin's knee was digging sharply against his ribs.

"Use my name, Ezio. And so, again, until you learn _something_."

Several painful attempts later, Ezio remarked, flat on his back and aching in entirely novel locations, "I think I like Malik more."

"Then it looks as though we have something in common." Altair nudged his leg with the heel of his boot. "Get up."

-tbc. Chess game is "Hoi Ploy", Hoi v Gulko. I know how to play chess but I'm not a serious player by any means (I prefer Chinese chess), so, uh, chess fanatics… sorry, lol.-


	14. Chapter 14

[A/N: Took time off fic-writing to edit Vitruvian Man. Thanks again to all the readers who contributed to the corrections.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 14

I

"Check." Leonardo moved his castle, and then turned back to his book.

Ezio rubbed hard at his eyes, sprawled on his side and staring at the board. As he had thought, having had prior experience playing against Leonardo made him none the wiser. He _still_ had not won a game. Should he move his king, or sacrifice a bishop? Turning the moves over in his mind, Ezio flinched violently when Malik sat down beside the board.

"May I?" Malik glanced down at him, gesturing at the pieces.

"Uh… of course, _Maes_… Malik," Ezio corrected himself conscientiously, when Malik tilted his head. "Where is Altaïr?"

"If he knows what is good for him, he is out buying acceptable breakfast." Malik moved the bishop, and Leonardo sat up, watching the board intently.

Ten minutes later, Leonardo checkmated Malik, but the book had been left closed on his lap, and he was leaning over the board, his chin over clasped hands. It had taken _effort_, Ezio realized, glancing at Malik: the _Maestro_'s eyes were narrowed, and he was sweating.

"Again?" Malik asked, frowning. The older assassin seemed tense, but Ezio supposed it was likely just the mission. "A fresh game, _per favore_."

"You are about to tell me that this is part of Assassin training in Masyaf," Ezio moved to lie in Leonardo's lap, his head on a folded thigh. There was a soft intake of breath above him, then long fingers began to stroke his flank and back, in easy, experienced caresses, ghosting over the purpling bruises from Altaïr's 'training'.

"No, Ezio. But it is encouraged. Chess can sharpen your mind. It helps you think ahead, trains you to learn to anticipate your enemy." Malik reset the pieces as Leonardo nodded his agreement to another game.

Two and a half games later, Ezio was drifting in and out of sleep, lulled by Leonardo's touch and the soft _clacks_ of wooden pieces on wood, when there was the faint sound of a boot scuffing against the roof, and Altaïr dropped down into the garden, balancing wrapped packages in his arms.

Malik relaxed from his crouch, his arm dropping back to his side and sitting back down beside the board.

"A little nervous, are we?" Altaïr teased, setting down the packages and unwrapping them: ample portions of fatayer, kunafa and sfiha. Ezio reached instantly for the kunafa, only for Altaïr to slap his hand away before he could touch the syrup-drenched dried noodles and cheese dessert. "Sit up."

"I'm comfortable." Ezio growled as his hand was batted away again. "_Altaïr_."

"I do not mind," Leonardo ventured, but Altaïr ignored him.

"The ship is in port. We may have little time."

"You just want me to sit in _your_ lap," Ezio retorted, smirking as Altaïr rolled his eyes, but he backed up reluctantly to his knees. "Could we not eat on the ship?"

"Malik is not presentable to civilization until he has eaten breakfast," Altaïr explained, even as Malik snorted at him and picked up a piece of fatayer, the pie pastry crumbly in his hands. "Short of temper and unforgiving."

"You mean as _you_ are in normal circumstances?" Ezio enjoyed sweets, particularly the extremely sugary types found in this part of the world, his fingers sticky from syrup.

Altaïr watched thoughtfully as he licked at his palm, his eyes unreadable, then he seemed to decide to ignore Ezio's question, turning to Leonardo and gesturing at some of the fatayer that were marked at the top with patterns. "Those do not have meat. The kunafa should be safe, but the sfiha has mutton."

"Ah… _grazie_, Altaïr." Leonardo said gratefully, picking up a piece of pie.

"Would you be able to eat anything on the ship?" Ezio asked, concerned, reminded now of Leonardo's vegetarianism.

"I have managed before."

"I have arranged for supplies," Malik said, his tone gentle again. Breakfast _did_ make a noticeable difference to the one-armed assassin's disposition. Ezio made a mental note. "They should be sufficient to tide Leonardo over until we reach Italia."

"_Grazie_, Malik." Leonardo bowed his head. "And _mi dispiace_ for the added trouble."

"There was no problem." Malik shrugged. "And, Ezio, have you been practicing with the Apple? It would be best to conceal it aboard the ship, so perhaps you should practice either before or after our sea journey."

"No, I have not used it," Ezio admitted, adding a silent _not here_ at the end of his words, "I do not like to touch it."

"The staff has the ability to freeze its wielder's opponents," Malik said quietly. "The Shield can counter this, but we have had to leave the shield in Masyaf to protect the fort. The Apple provides knowledge. Perhaps it can show you a way against it."

Ezio recalled the staff's ability all too well. "Thank you for your counsel. I will try."

"It will be difficult for you, the call," Altaïr said seriously, in between mouthfuls, "But learn this you must. As it is, we have already agreed between the _Maestri_ that the one most resistant to the Apple's temptation is you. So you would be best placed to use it, and with it, land the final blow."

"I will see what I can do. Perhaps I can extend its protection." Ezio said, a little uncomfortably. "Later, when I look, I will need someone beside me. If I am under too long, bring me back."

"There is some danger?" Leonardo asked, with an anxious glance at the pouch on Ezio's hip.

"The Pieces are all dangerous. That is why the Shield is under lock and key at the lowest level of Masyaf, and partly why we dare not bring it with us." Altaïr picked up a piece of kunafa carefully. "But the Apple is worse than most. The short time that I had it in my possession… it was only habit and the barest veneer of discipline that allowed me to hand it over to another. It is… the only thing I was grateful to Al Mualim for. Had I had the Apple any longer, it would have consumed me. Yet Ezio seems to have no problem doing the same."

"Perhaps because he is too stubborn," Malik said lightly, and Leonardo chuckled, the wire-thin tension dissipating. "But I was not aware that you have looked into the Apple, friend Ezio. You seem familiar with the process."

It took all of his discipline to continue eating and just shrug, even as a cold chill settled in his spine over his slip. "Altaïr talked to me privately. There were many, many dire warnings."

"Strange, that he could have impressed any sort of warning on you," Malik observed. "You, with your reckless regard for danger."

"Danger involving other men and weapons, that I will happily face. But to lose my soul, _that_ I think I will treat with all due caution. Besides," Ezio continued, relieved that Malik nodded as though he accepted the explanation, "All my instincts are telling me to throw it away."

"You have good instincts." Malik said approvingly. "Though it is a pity that you do not always listen to them."

II

The ship _Tempesta Donna_ was decidedly unsavory. It was clearly not a merchant ship, built on sleek lines and with sails built to catch the wind. There were too many shuttered cannon ports at the galley line for a messenger's ship, and there were no adornments at all that would mark it as a nobleman's pleasure.

Studying it from the harbor as Malik spoke in low tones to a tall, swarthy man by the gangplank, Altaïr seemed to guess at the question foremost in his mind, beside him.

"A pirate ship. _La Volpe_ has odd friends."

"A _pirate_ ship?" Ezio blinked at Altaïr. "Is this _safe_?"

"Likely not." Altaïr, Ezio realized, was positioned as close to Malik as possible without actually giving the semblance of eavesdropping on the one-armed assassin's conversation, with a clear line of sight to the sailor's neck if need be. "But it looks like a fast ship, and we are in a hurry."

Laborers were unloading crates of spices from _Tempesta Donna_, likely to trade for supplies or other materials. Ezio had read reports about pirates before, in his father's study in a better time, when he had been forced to study finance and the intricacies of international trade, and all the bloodthirsty stories he remembered about their ruthlessness swam slowly back onto the surface of his memory.

Altaïr tensed when Malik shook hands with the sailor, and led him over to their group. The tall man did not appear to be of any discernable race that Ezio could identify, burned dark by the sun, his black hair cut short almost to the skull. A jagged scar of an unhealthy shade of pink ran between narrowed gray eyes to his jaw, twisting his lips in a perpetual grimace. He stank of sweat and too many missed baths, and he was dressed in a liberally stained, open blue vest, a discoloring white sash at his waist, breeches and cracked leather boots. A pitted cutlass was sheathed at his hip, and the hand that grasped Ezio's to shake was firm and callused.

"This is Piotr," Malik introduced. "The captain."

"No women this time?" Piotr rumbled, in accented Italian. "Our mutual friend is a devious _bastardo_ and I would not put it beyond him. Women are bad luck on my beautiful _Donna_."

"Four men," Altaïr said dryly, shaking Piotr's hand in turn. "When are you sailing?"

"Three days of shore leave." Piotr raised a hand when Ezio opened his mouth to make an objection. "It is already the barest minimum, to restock our supplies. That, and my men deserve it after the Barbary. And then we will drop you off in Italia." Piotr shook his head, even as he kept his words deliberately vague in case of other eavesdroppers. "We will not be popular. Usually we have two weeks of shore leave, but our mutual friend has called in all of his favors with me. It seems you are all in a hurry."

"That we are, Piotr." Malik said amiably. The fake arm hung loosely at his side, the material unnoticeable, though it did look stiff under close observation it could appear to be mere injury. "We will return in three days."

"Get whatever you want loaded onto my ship before then." Piotr narrowed his eyes, looking them over. "Are all of you like… our mutual friend?"

Ezio did not need to ask what Piotr meant. "Most-"

"Yes." Altaïr cut in, his eyes narrowing. "We will be armed."

"Good." Piotr narrowed his eyes, looking directly at Leonardo, who had clearly lost interest in the conversation and was watching the flight of seagulls that were circling the fishermen's boats. His face, upraised towards the arcing birds, was visible under his cowl. "Then perhaps we will have no trouble."

"What do you mean, trouble?" Ezio said warily.

"_That_ one is pretty enough to be a woman, and there will only be _three_ days of leave. If you will be armed, wear your weapons openly." Piotr clapped Malik on the shoulder, heavily. "I swore by God and by my name to our mutual friend to make sure the four of you get to where you want, but I made no promises about your safety, or whether you make it to Italia alive or dead."

"We understand, Piotr," Malik nodded slowly, though Altaïr was frowning. "Thank you for the warning."

III

Ezio was rudely awakened from the Apple via Altaïr shaking him violently by the shoulders. Flailing weakly, he managed to gasp, "St-stop… _dio mio_… or my head will fall off…"

"Hn." Altaïr dropped him back onto the cot. Ezio groped blindly for the Apple, but the older assassin snatched it out of his reach and dropped it with distaste on the dresser. "You have been under long enough."

"I was _back_," Ezio forced himself up onto unsteady knees. He had seen _Firenze_ in the Apple, Firenze and Venezia and Monteriggioni, still and silent, but it had been what he remembered, what he wanted, and Ezio had never realized how homesick he was until now, "I was back in the river and it was all frozen, it is still there! I need to check-" He yelped as Altaïr slapped him across the cheek. "_Altaïr_."

"Was it like this with you?" Malik asked behind Altaïr, bemused, and Ezio stilled the rest of his retort instantly. Altaïr had just kept him from saying far too much. Beside Malik, looking frightened and leaning against the window, was Leonardo, the long fingers of his left hand twisting in his right sleeve.

"Sometimes." Altaïr stared hard at Ezio. "The Apple is a devious thing. If you have learned how to defend against the Staff, do not use it again. Can I have your word?"

"My word on it." His mind clearing, Ezio could now appreciate what Altaïr had done for him, even as he rubbed at his cheek. "_Grazie_, _grazie_."

"When you are recovered, find me in the garden." Altaïr took Malik by the arm, leading the other _Maestro_ out of the room and speaking quietly but sharply in Arabic when Malik dug in his heels. Reluctantly, Malik followed, closing the door behind him, and Ezio closed his eyes, sinking down onto the cot. That had been frighteningly close.

The cot depressed to his left as Leonardo sat down beside his arm, taking his fingers gently into his grasp. Leonardo's palms were clammy from sweat, but Ezio could not muster the effort to pull away.

"You miss your home," Leonardo whispered, finally.

"Do not worry, Leonardo. I will not look into the Apple again."

"That was not what I meant." Leonardo brought his fingers to his lips, brushing the knuckles with a soft kiss. "I suppose it is only natural. Yours is a better world."

"Up until I nearly doomed it with my ineptitude." Ezio squeezed Leonardo's fingers, and then finally guessed at the root of Leonardo's sadness. Shifting against the wall, he patted the cot with his free hand. "Lie down."

Leonardo obeyed, his expression still distant, until Ezio sighed and rolled on top of him, his elbows to either side of Leonardo's head and straddling the engineer's hips. Leonardo pushed up into the kiss with a soft groan, his clever fingers slipping under Ezio's shirt to stroke up his back in delicious circles.

"I believe Altaïr is waiting for you," Leonardo said breathlessly, when Ezio kissed down to his jaw, nuzzling his short-cropped beard.

"Mm. I am sure he can entertain himself until I am ready." Following the memory in Masyaf, Ezio set his teeth on the pressure point Leonardo had shown him on the neck and sucked, chuckling as the engineer hissed and arched against him. Licking a wet stripe back up to Leonardo's cheek, Ezio studied his lover thoughtfully. "Piotr was right. You _are_ pretty enough to be a woman."

Leonardo stared at him blankly. "He said that?"

"You were right in front of him. Albeit watching the birds."

"Oh. I was thinking of flying machines," Leonardo said, a little guiltily. "I had a project back in Venezia, but it never got off the ground, as it were."

"_Cristo_, do not talk about your flying machine," Ezio shuddered. "I broke my arm the first time, and then I nearly broke my neck. And _then _I failed to do what I wanted, even after all of that."

Leonardo laughed, startled. "You actually _tried_? You must have been drunk. Or mad."

"Probably the latter. I was young, and highly convinced of my invincibility." Ezio admitted, nibbling at Leonardo's lower lip until the engineer uttered a low, strangled moan. "On the ship, make sure you are never alone. If I am not there, then stay with Malik or Altaïr. Understand?"

"_Bene_," Leonardo said doubtfully, clearly not understanding, but happy to please.

"So," Ezio continued, patting Leonardo's hip, "Can I touch you now, or do you still have reservations?"

"It seems so sudden," Leonardo said, blinking, though his flush deepened. "You have not been with a man before."

"Neither do we have much time," Ezio replied soberly, "And I try not to do things in halves. Your words, before, about the cycle, what did you mean?"

"It took time before you took my bed as more than one of many," Leonardo said delicately. "Even though we were also best friends. It is time that understands love, and so, it was a long time before even that matured. And now, time we do not have."

"In reality," Ezio reminded Leonardo, "I am already older even than the Ezio that was here… and I hope, a little more mature. Life has taught me to take things as they come and roll with the punches."

"Take things as they come," Leonardo echoed, closing his eyes. "It feels as though I am adrift, and all of this is out of my control. If only-"

_Control_, Ezio's mind pointed out to him helpfully, and then added _you idiot_ when the immediate solution did not dawn until Leonardo began to nuzzle his neck tentatively in turn. _Leonardo needs to have a little control._ "Some time ago during the incident that I seem to be refusing to let you forget, you said you knew what I like."

Leonardo, predictably, cringed. "Ah, well, as you know, I was hoping you could forget everything about _that_, so-"

"Why not prove it?"

"Prove… prove it _now_?"

"We have time _now_." Altaïr could _definitely_ wait.

"Ah… _bene_, I guess, but, are you sure?" Leonardo looked so _worried_ that Ezio could not help but grin.

"Now you are making me curious, Leonardo."

"The first time was like this," Leonardo choked out, as Ezio pulled open his shirt to nip along his collarbone. "Curiosity on your part, capitulation on mine, and then nothing happened again for two months. It was as though it never happened."

"Two _months_?"

"And five days," Leonardo whispered, though he carded his hands hungrily through Ezio's hair, urging him downwards. "Granted, you were busy, what with the crumbling defense of Venezia. Desperate missions. And then Caterina was slain, in Forli, which we had thought was safe, and the world crumbled quickly."

"How old was I?" Ezio asked, somewhat taken aback.

"Twenty five."

"At seventeen I had lost my father and brothers," Ezio rested his chin on Leonardo's shuddering chest. "Effectively, lost my mother as well. Somehow we – mother, Claudia and I – made it to Mario's villa, where in a somewhat ill-fated attack on the Pazzi, Mario was severely wounded. For the next few months after that, as he recovered from the infection, I was the effective ruler of Monteriggioni, and after that, even Mario decided to leave the responsibility to me, as he himself was busy. You could say I had to grow up very abruptly. So I am not the same person as _this_ Ezio. Not entirely."

"I am sorry to hear that," Leonardo murmured, his eyes wide.

"Do not be. These past few months have been good for me, in a way. It was as though I was catching up on being able to be childish," Ezio grinned, a little wistful. "Though, granted how my family acted as though it was absolutely normal, I find it a wonder that you fell in love with me at all. In the first place."

"Why would it be a wonder? It may have taken a while, but no one has cared for me as you do." Leonardo pushed lightly at his shoulders, urging Ezio to his side. "It is a good point, this. You are far older than you were when _this_ began. I should not assume that it would proceed along the same lines."

"Take life as it comes. I can promise you it will not be the same," Ezio rolled up against the wall as directed, and grinned as Leonardo maneuvered him onto his back, crouched over his hips and taking off his own shirt, the smooth, soft skin velvet under Ezio's palms, over corded muscle from too much time in the smithy.

Ezio felt his heart skip from trepidation and anticipation both, leaning up onto his elbows to watch as Leonardo licked a wet path down his collar to a tender spot against his flank, under his arm, and worrying it with his teeth. Ezio twitched, with a blink, at the sudden twist of arousal that curled between his thighs, and Leonardo raised his head briefly at his groan.

"I think my heart nearly stopped when you would not wake," Leonardo's breath was hot against his ribs, making Ezio shiver as the engineer drew a wet stripe over an old scar with his tongue. "Do not do that again to me."

"I have already given my word to Altaïr," Ezio reminded him breathlessly, one hand cupped blindly behind Leonardo's skull, the other curled tight on the sheets. The tip of the engineer's tongue traced another scar, one that stopped low over his belly, and then he lapped up, against the ugly ridges of the wound that Rodrigo had left on his stomach. "Leonardo, _lower_."

"But you wanted me to prove what I said," Leonardo replied innocently, cupping Ezio through his breeches and squeezing lightly enough for the assassin to buck into the pressure and hiss out a curse. "Any lower and this may be over too quickly. And we have time, as you say."

True to his words, Leonardo took his time, his skilled hands and tongue wringing ecstasy expertly from Ezio's body once he was stripped bare; he moaned and arched as teeth closed on a nipple, tugging lightly; a hiss as Leonardo's tongue stroked over the valley of his hips, hands rubbing deliciously upwards along softer inner thighs, lips ceding to teeth under his knees. By the time Leonardo _finally_ bent his beautiful head between Ezio's legs, his prick was swollen and throbbing painfully against his belly, and Ezio had long run out of words, choking and whining instead as Leonardo traced a vein with the tip of his tongue.

He groaned in frustration as Leonardo abruptly pulled back, blinking dumbly as the engineer hastily removed the rest of his clothes, then Ezio pressed roughly up into the descending kiss, exhaling loudly in relief as their hips ground together. The thick, hot flesh rubbing against his felt… _strange_, but it was not unwelcome, especially when Leonardo pulled back from the kiss long enough to spit on his palm and slick them both.

"Close," Ezio managed to gasp out, his hands clawed tight on Leonardo's shoulders. "_Dio mio_… so _close_-"

"Not yet," Leonardo murmured into his ear, his voice thick with lust. "I want to show you something."

Ezio's instinctive question was stifled by two long fingers pushing gently into his mouth, over his tongue; he sucked tentatively on them, then in earnest, when Leonardo groaned and bit down on the ear he had been tracing with his tongue. Leonardo's thumb pressed lightly over the slit on Ezio's prick, and his hips jerked as Ezio cried out around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers were replaced by Leonardo's mouth, sure and possessive. Busy giving back as good as he got, Ezio did not notice Leonardo's hands curling down between their bodies until the first slick digit pushed carefully into him.

"_Leo_-"

"Shh, _caro mio_," Leonardo whispered, strained, over his lips, his free hand slowly stroking them both. "Trust me."

Nodding shakily, Ezio tried his best not to think about how odd the reversal felt. He had had women in this way before, albeit courtesans who were hardly virgins to the matter, and their reactions had never particularly struck him as-

The second finger _burned_ sharply enough that Ezio bit down hard on Leonardo's neck, causing the engineer to jerk in surprise, then groan as Ezio guiltily lapped over the reddening mark.

"Ezio?"

"I think," Ezio said, his voice hitching at the pain, "That I need to apologize to some… people… in Venezia."

Leonardo looked adorably puzzled for a long moment until realization dawned, then he kissed Ezio roughly, his fingers jerking forwards and _up_, and the sudden bolt of sheer _ecstasy_ all but lifted Ezio's hips off the sheets, his shout muffled against Leonardo's thrusting tongue.

Ezio was staring, dazed, up at the ceiling when Leonardo let him up for air, counting the dark spots that were dotting his vision. A tongue pushed briefly and wetly into his ear, then Leonardo growled, husky with want, "Try not to think of other people when you are in bed with me. _Si_?"

"_Si_," Ezio would have said anything that Leonardo wanted for the fingers to press against that spot again. He moved his hips hopefully, and Leonardo chuckled, obliging him with another thrust of his clever fingers. "Aah!"

"So beautiful, _caro mio_," Leonardo's smile curled against his neck, shifting lower against him as he began to work his fingers against Ezio's pleasure in earnest, kissing down Ezio's heaving belly. Wracked with novel ecstasy and drenched in sweat, the first flick of Leonardo's tongue over the sensitive tip of his prick pushed Ezio over the edge with a loud, wrenching groan.

Blissfully boneless, Ezio closed his eyes, trying to regain control of his breathing. He cracked open an eye only when Leonardo began to laugh.

"You are rather more responsive than I remember."

Ezio glowered at him, even as Leonardo finished wiping them down with his shirt, dropping the soiled material to the side. "You… and your fingers…" A thought occurred to him, surfacing gently through the bubble of sated contentment, and even as Ezio tried to process it, Leonardo curled against him, already spent, and the bed beneath his right thigh was uncomfortably damp. Guiltily, Ezio realized he could not quite remember _when_, and resolved to be more conscientious with his lover the next time.

"The first time," he murmured cautiously, "Was it like this?"

"Not exactly." Leonardo, damn his hide, sounded all too amused.

"I rather assumed," Ezio continued, pinching reproachfully at Leonardo's shoulder, "That I would not be the one playing the woman, as it were."

"What gave you that impression?" Leonardo was _definitely_ grinning now, pressed against him.

"You said then that, you, ah, wanted, my, inside you-"

"And so?"

Ezio's mind drew a blank, and then obliged with an immediate conclusion that he did not feel quite up to facing. So _Leonardo_ was the- "Never mind."

Leonardo shook against him, in silent laughter, and then he sobered, when Ezio stiffened in embarrassment. "I do not mind either way. So, if you are uncomfortable…"

It was not that he was truly _uncomfortable_, Ezio felt, it was more that it was too _new_. Still, he had to admit that it had been good, different or not, and it was not as though his sense of sexuality was truly couched in any sort of prudishness. Curious again, he asked,"Was that all you wanted to show me?"

"Hardly."

"Then," Ezio decided, tucking his head sleepily between Leonardo's chin and his shoulder, "I'll let you know when I have enough… information."

A kiss was pressed over his forehead, a palm splaying over his belly. "As you wish, _caro mio_."

-tbc. Also, to resolve one of the debates on 4chan, yes, Ezio does sleep with Rosa shortly after she recovers from her leg wound, in the official book (Assassin's Creed: Renaissance). But then, he sleeps with just about everyone.

I wrote most of this at 1am, so uhh, please point out any errors. I've edited it twice, so hopefully nothing is too glaring. And Leonardo is kind of like… pervert bait… in my stories somehow…-


	15. Chapter 15

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 15

I

Perched precariously against the mast, above furling sails, Ezio was beginning to enjoy himself.

This far away from the stench of the port and the deck, the sea air was crisp and fresh, and the sharp wind whipped back his cowl, dragging his bound hair in its wake. Below, he could see Leonardo, Altaïr and Malik against the rail, talking between themselves as they looked down at the waves.

The sailors had unanimously decided to leave them alone after Altaïr had sliced up an unlucky man's arm when the palm of said arm had ventured a little too close to an unsuspecting Leonardo's rump. Admittedly, it likely wasn't entirely the instant violence that kept them away: Ezio noted the mild horror on the faces of the sailors when Leonardo had then insisted upon – and proceed to – stitch up the victim. On the spot.

Smirking at the memory and distracted, Ezio flinched violently and nearly fell off his perch when something abruptly flashed into his peripheral vision.

A hooded man, portly and bejeweled, pudgy fingers clasped around an all-too-familiar staff; dumbfounded, Ezio stared for a sheer, stunned moment of absolute shock before snarling and darting forward, palms upraised.

Rodrigo Borgia chuckled darkly as Ezio stumbled through him, his outline flickering. "I am in Roma, _assassino_. This is a specter."

"_How_-" Ezio balanced carefully on the mast, wary of any attack.

"The Pieces are capable of many things." Rodrigo gestured contemptuously at the pouch at Ezio's belt. "It took you long enough to retrieve the Apple."

"Unfortunately you and your kind were not so _cooperative_ as to just give it to me," Ezio retorted, with a brief glance downwards. None of the others seemed to notice his visitor.

Following his gaze, Rodrigo shrugged. "No one else can see me here. I thought it was time that we had a private conversation."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Come now, it is a long journey to Italia, is it not?" Rodrigo smirked. "Oh, I know you are coming, you and your little friends, headlong into the lion's den. Very romantic. Very commendable. Very tragic. You, just like your father before you, you give your trust so easily."

"I have no need for a Templar's words."

"Has _La Volpe_ even told you who – or _what_ – he is, pray tell?" Rodrigo countered. "I see your eyes narrow. Has he ever said outright that he is an Assassin?"

"He has said that he is a servant of the Creed."

"Yes, your simplistic Creed," Rodrigo sneered. "A servant of 'the' Creed – did he even specify that it was the _assassino_ Creed? And of the 'Balance'. Does that make him your ally?"

"He has proven himself ally enough." Ezio said irritably. Only curiosity rooted him to the spot. In truth, he _was_ curious about _La Volpe_, curious enough that he had been tempted to ask the Apple, and only his word to Altaïr had caught him short.

"Since it suits him, so he would. A little free information for you, _assassino_. Do you know what 'balance' is?"

"Are you taking me for a child?"

Rodrigo ignored Ezio's snarl. "Simply put, servants of the Balance tilt the scales, _assassino_. When he needs to be, _La Volpe_ is an _assassino_, or a Templar, or both and neither. He is the sword that hangs on a hair above a tyrant's neck, the tool that pares away the tangent worlds that fall too far out of balance, where time and place themselves become skewed."

_This world should not be_. The very first conversation he had with _La Volpe_ on this reality floated to mind. "You are saying that he wants to destroy the world? _You_ are the one who came here!"

"And why would I want to come to this shadow world, child?" Rodrigo demanded impatiently, "Where my, where _our_ very presence shakes it to the core?"

"Power. Here, the Templars are in power."

"Power? I am the _Pope_ in our Italia, _assassino_, and my children are Dukes and cardinals. A word from me turns a man into a Lord; another can cause him to die the very next day, forgotten and bleeding out his life in the gutter. _That_ is power. Here, there are many Templars. Many with whom I must _share_ power. I may sit now on the throne because of the True Staff, but the foundations of my seat are made of clay." Rodrigo knocked his knuckles briefly against the masthead. "This world crumbles, and it is not true."

"Then why _did_ you come here?" Ezio asked, a little bewildered. "Why did you open the tomb?"

"I opened it because I _thought_ it contained a weapon, or at least another Piece," Rodrigo said irritably. "Had I known it was a _conduit_, I would have left it well alone, I can assure you. We were directed here, you and I, and the master puppeteer is _La Volpe_. He will use us to end this world."

"I do not believe you."

"Believe what you want. When the True Apple and the True Staff clash, this fragile world will end, and _La Volpe_ will have his objective. We will die, the Pieces will eventually return to the River through gravitation, and his so-called balance will return."

"If this is so, why does he not simply take the Pieces from us? Why go to so much trouble?" Ezio countered.

"Because he is an agent, and not a catalyst. His powers to interact with the worlds are limited. He cannot touch the Pieces. He can only manipulate."

"How do you know this much?"

Rodrigo tapped the Staff in his hands. "Ask the Piece that you have, _assassino_. The Apple is Knowledge. It can tell you everything."

"Assuming that you are right, what do you _suggest_?" Ezio asked coldly, making sure to inject his words with as much venomous skepticism as he could muster.

"_La Volpe_ cannot be killed, but he can be temporarily… inconvenienced. If on the battleground we both turn against him, in Roma, we may be able to activate the shadow of the conduit in this version of the tomb, while he is incapacitated, and return together to the River."

When Ezio did not immediately answer, Rodrigo snorted. "If you want me to appeal to your 'finer' nature, _assassino_, this might even mean that this world and its shadows may survive. Then, if you want, we can recommence our puerile battles in the true Roma."

"I cannot trust you," Ezio concluded finally. Rodrigo's words tied everything neatly into place, but he had firsthand experience of the man's treachery.

"I am not asking you to trust me, fool. I am asking you to trust the Piece that you have in your hands." Rodrigo snapped. "To think that I went to _such_ trouble to isolate that blathering dotard, Al Mualim, and when you _finally_ retrieve the Apple you ask it all the wrong questions."

"I have given my word not to look into it again." Ezio said, a little lamely.

"I am sure that it would not strain your imagination to come up with a reason or a means." Rodrigo retorted. "When we finally meet in Roma, I trust that you would have grown a _spine_ of your own and arrived at the _rational_ conclusion. _Hasta luego_, Ezio Auditore."

Rodrigo vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Ezio to the sudden, stark loneliness of his misgivings.

II

Altaïr shook his head and Malik laughed when Ezio let out a wild whoop once their ship docked, leaping down from the rail of the ship to the jetty, darting through the crowd and then all but scampering up the nearest stone wall, up onto a slate roof, ignoring startled gasps from passers-by.

He didn't wait for the others – Leonardo was more than safe with the _Maestri_ – instead stretching his legs, running over the rooftops, leaping from towers and spires. He had never been particularly fond of long sea journeys: after the first two or three days, Ezio would usually have exhausted everything that could even remotely amuse him on a ship. Even the necessary trips from Forli to Venezia had been painful.

The habitual 'training' sessions with Altaïr helped to occupy his mind, but it was not as though they could fight from dawn to dusk, risking exhaustion before an unfriendly crew. It would not have been so bad, Ezio felt, as he slowed down eventually to a jog, if _Tempesta Donna_ had contained private cabins other than the quarters of the captain and the first mate. As it were, they had to share sleeping spaces with the rest of the crew, which meant hammocks in a designated area below decks, with no privacy whatsoever. Which meant no play with Leonardo.

Latakia had whetted his curiosity, but Ezio had to admit that all in all, he still could not rank the experience any better than a plaint, soft, beautiful woman. Peering over the edge of the roof and noting the olive-skinned beauties native to this city, Ezio wondered whether the same rules in Masyaf applied here. A pretty woman would be a welcome distraction, away from Rodrigo's words and the increasingly stifling presence of his companions.

Lately, whenever he looked at Altaïr, Malik or Leonardo, he could only imagine their inadvertent deaths, and all upon his hands; the instinctive guilt and horror _hurt_ far worse than the thought of never seeing the true world again. He could not yet bring himself to look into the Apple.

Altaïr caught up to Ezio just as he had picked out a slender girl in the crowd, with swaying hips and an earthenware jar balanced gracefully on her head. The _Maestro_ did not miss anything: dark eyes darted between Ezio and the girl on the street, but Altaïr merely smirked.

"We do not have _that_ much shore leave."

"Whatever you think I was about to do, you would be quite mistaken." Ezio replied primly. He had told Leonardo that it would be _different_, and as much as the girl's hips was making him feel a little regretful about his conviction, he would not break his word.

"Once, I loved a woman, I had children," Altaïr mused aloud, still following Ezio's gaze.

"How did you change?"

"There is something different when you try it with another predator," Altaïr drawled, his eyes dark under his cowl. "One like Malik. An equal. Of course, you have Leonardo… and Leonardo is beautiful and intelligent, but he is not one of us."

"Leonardo is important to me," Ezio retorted coldly, the baser instincts within him stirring, curious, at Altaïr's veiled invitation. He suppressed them quickly. "Far too important for experiments and games."

Instead of backing off, Altaïr merely continued to stare at him thoughtfully. "Since the ship, you have been distant. Even with your so-very-important Leonardo. Is something amiss?"

"The ship gave me a lot of time to think," Ezio replied carefully, his sudden flare of irritation at Altaïr's words dissipating. "About this world. About what we are about to do. With so much at stake, I am not sure that we are going about with the full amount of information."

"What information?"

"_La Volpe's_ words, about the world breaking. He said that when Rodrigo used the True Pieces, the world's foundations were shaken. So if I were to go to Roma and face him, would that not happen again?"

"Just defend, and defend us as well if you are able," Altaïr said dismissively. "That will be enough to kill him."

Ezio found that he could not share Altaïr's conviction. "I think I need more information. The Apple should be able to tell us more about _La Volpe's_ words."

"You forget what happened the _last_ time you looked into the Apple."

"That is why you are there, are you not?" Ezio grinned, steeling himself to be lighthearted even in the face of Altaïr's suspicion. "I want to see if the Apple knows about this sort of situation, about fragile realities. Whether I can return to the River without everything breaking apart."

"If that was _all_ you wanted, you could have told us earlier," Altaïr said pointedly, his instincts clearly awakening.

"On a ship full of _those_ sorts of men? No, I would not be anything but alert when surrounded by pirates." Ezio said, thinking quickly.

"I did not say that you should dive on the ship, Ezio, but merely that you could have told us about your suspicions. If that is, of course, why you were distant in the first place."

"I wanted to think it through a little more first."

"How unlike you." Altaïr said dryly, his eyes narrowed briefly. Probably flickering in and out of the Sight, Ezio concluded, with a sigh. "I will speak to Malik about this." Altaïr decided finally as he turned to go, padding away over the rooftops. "When you have finished spying on innocent women, perhaps you could also think over the concept of _trust_ a little more."

Ezio eyed the pale outline of the girl's back regretfully, already nearly invisible from the overlapping crowd. When the _Maestro_ put it that way… "Altaïr, wait!"

III

Ezio _finally_ caught up with Altaïr in a walled garden not unlike the ones they had left in Syria, though climbing plants were thick and lush over the crumbling stone, and perfumed women in scant clothes giggled and faded away into the building when Ezio tackled Altaïr to the grass.

Altaïr let out a soft huff, and Ezio instinctively brought up his wrist to block the backward swing of the silent blade, rolling away to avoid the jab at his jaw and growling in return, both blades upraised, as Altaïr pounced. They rolled on the grass, snarling and scuffling, until Altaïr had Ezio pinned on his flank, his left arm twisted behind him and smirking as Ezio dredged up the filthiest string of invectives that he could remember.

"… _stronzo_," Ezio concluded, when he was finally breathless, his forehead resting on the crushed grass. "Where are we? _Dio mio_, for an old man, you can run _really_ quickly."

Altaïr cuffed him soundly across the ear, but let go of his wrist, sitting cross-legged on the ground before him as Ezio massaged his elbow gingerly. "The Bureau for Antalya, obviously."

"Masyaf reaches this far?"

"No. Antalya belongs to the Turkish Assassins, the _kartal_. They have had rather more luck than Masyaf in holding on to territories outside of their stronghold." Altaïr admitted ruefully. "And they are far more secretive. They have agreed to shelter us on our way, but at present they have no intention of providing us with anything further."

"This is a brothel," Ezio said slowly, staring upside down at the architecture, with its gaudy, gilt sills and draped bunting, the self-assured women who had been in the garden.

Altaïr grimaced. "Of _that_ I am aware. The _kartal_ use women as well as men. This place's version of a _rafiq_ is a woman."

"Truly?" Ezio was intrigued, despite himself. "That would be something to see."

"She is far older than you, child," Altaïr drawled, his hand flicking forward to cuff him again. This time, Ezio caught his wrist, yanking hard and jerking up his knee. Altaïr snarled, curling instinctively at the pain, then bared his teeth as Ezio managed to roll on top of him, his fingers curled tight in Altaïr's cowl.

"Take back that word," Ezio was panting, exhilarated. He was faster now, thanks to Altaïr's brutal concept of training, and he knew he was naturally stronger than the _Maestro_. "That word, 'child'."

He caught only the flash of white teeth and lips drawing back into a smirk, and Altaïr's mouth was upon him, his right wrist jerking out of Ezio's sudden nerveless grasp to crush their lips together, twisting in Ezio's cowl. One heartbeat, two, and Ezio was pressing back with a muffled growl, his fingers digging troughs in the soil beside Altaïr's head as he felt the maimed left hand curl tight against his rump, squeezing.

Irritated at the presumption, he _bit_, hard enough that Altaïr reared back with a hiss, then the _Maestro_ laughed, rumbling and deep, as Ezio pressed on, lapping copper between them, the taste of lifeblood sharp and heady.

He could see what Altaïr meant: here were two matched predators, circling and testing one another, lust almost secondary to the ferocious thrill of danger, of impending _violence_. Ezio wondered if whether _this_ was what Malik and Altaïr felt whenever they tangled, as steely fingers raked up his spine and under his cape, wondered how Altaïr could even _bear_ to stray-

"Ezio?"

Leonardo's startled voice brought Ezio back sharply to reality. He blinked, lifting his head, only able to watch as Leonardo's expression of shock shut down quickly into a smooth mask, only to shatter again from further surprise as, behind him, Malik slipped an arm firmly around the engineer's waist. Malik, thankfully, only seemed amused.

"Leonardo, I-"

"You should know better, Altaïr. This _is_ fairly public," Malik interrupted Ezio's attempt to explain, addressing Altaïr with mock reproach. Altaïr rolled a shoulder into a shrug, even as Ezio hastily scrambled up and away to his feet.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Altaïr touched his fingers to his mauled lip and grimaced as the pads came away still spotted with blood. "The baby eagle has fangs."

"You deserved it," Ezio retorted, marching over resolutely to Leonardo. Inches away from Malik's arched eyebrow, Leonardo's uncertain, wavering smile, Ezio sighed loudly, cupping Malik's cheek in a palm and kissing the _Maestro_ roughly. Malik tensed only for a moment, before his tongue pressed into Ezio's mouth, just as sure and insistent as Altaïr's, lapping at the traces of blood.

Ezio took a deep breath when they broke away, and pulled Leonardo out of Malik's grasp, tilting back the engineer's head, and _this_ kiss was softer, gentler, with all of his _want_ and soul-deep affection, his thumbs caressing Leonardo's jaw even as arms wrapped slowly around his waist, the engineer moaning, all ragged _need_ as he leant up against him.

Leonardo looked dazed when Ezio brushed a final kiss over swelling lips, his splayed palm pressed possessively over the small of the engineer's back. The _Maestri_ both had not moved; they had been _watching_, Ezio realized, and the thought of _that_ brought a prickling flush to his cheeks, his heartbeat quickening noticeably.

"So. Now we are all even. And just so you know, Leonardo, that _bastardo_ started it."

"You _bit_ me," Altaïr said accusingly, rolling lightly to his feet and dusting himself off fastidiously.

"And I said that you deserved it." Ezio leant down to brush another kiss over Leonardo's lips as the engineer opened his mouth to make a comment, then another, until Leonardo gave up, purring as he rubbed his cheek against Ezio's collar, nuzzling his neck. "We have rooms here?"

"Pick an empty room and remember to lock it," Malik said, so-very-casual even as Altaïr sidled up behind him and bit him on the nape of his neck. "Once you have finished, ask a girl to take you to me. The _rafiq_ of this place has a few tasks due to an increased Templar presence in the south. Which," Malik added pointedly, even as Altaïr pressed against him with a growl, "Altaïr will be beginning before you, seeing as he has so much free time."

Altaïr stiffened, then he muttered something into Malik's ear, his fingertips skimming up the one-armed assassin's flank. To no avail, as Malik merely reached behind him to flick Altaïr across the forehead. "Now, Altaïr."

"Let us leave them to their devices," Leonardo suggested, grinning against Ezio's neck.

"Of course, _caro mio_. But one moment." Ezio reluctantly disengaged from Leonardo's embrace, circling around to Altaïr's side, the _Maestri_ watching him with the careful, confident stillness of natural predators. Smirking, Ezio leaned forward to purr a few choice words into Altaïr's ear, then quickly leaping backwards as Altaïr growled and swiped at him with his left hand, blade unsheathed.

Darting back to Leonardo's side, Ezio hustled him into the building even as a throwing knife glanced off the archway entrance, and Leonardo was laughing, shocked laughter at the outburst of violence, as he led Ezio up a stairway, pushing past perfumed, veiled bodies and enigmatic, painted smiles.

"What did you tell him?"

Ezio nipped at Leonardo's ear, pitching his voice low. "I told him _arrivederci_, that I would spare some thought to his sacrifice while we enjoy ourselves."

"That was all?"

"I _may_ have suggested also that you were going to fuck me," Ezio said, keeping his tone light even as he licked a little nervously at his lips. Even with bravado, it was still somewhat of a daunting thought. "Was that not part of what you were going to show me?"

Leonardo paused so abruptly that Ezio nearly tripped over him, and as Ezio opened his mouth to protest, he found himself pushed up against the wall and kissed deeply, tongues tangling despite the soft, knowing laughter around them, the twittering whispers and sidelong glances.

"Then, _caro mio_," Leonardo murmured against Ezio, with a playful nip against his jaw that pulled a growl from deep within the assassin, "Let us hurry."

-tbc… haha! Ahem. ;/ art is easier really.-


	16. Chapter 16

[A/N: Procrastination = other fics + other art + bumming around reading manga/comics. Mass Effect 2 is coming, Thursday release. If this fic isn't finished by then (and it looks unlikely), uh, hiatus inc. Thanks everyone for their support to date. I have difficulty writing sex scenes and fight scenes (i.e. scenes that aren't meant to be dialogue heavy), so chapters involving those inevitably take far longer to pen]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 16

I

Once they made it into the closest unoccupied room and locked the door behind them, Leonardo immediately kissed Ezio ardently, so much so that he felt his knees weaken as they fell back heavily against the doorframe, the wooden edge digging into Ezio's shoulder as they tore at each other's clothes.

Gone was any hint of uncertainty in Leonardo; the engineer's impatience was clear enough in his deft fingers, Ezio's armor, vest, cape, bracers, belts and baldric, glove and shirt soon discarded about their heels. Long fingers splayed up his back, kneading, until Ezio moaned harshly between them and raked clawed fingers down Leonardo's flanks. He was having less luck with Leonardo's tunics, tugging impatiently at hidden clasps and knots, until Leonardo laughed breathlessly against his neck and assisted him.

"In the garden, with Altaïr-"

"I had him pinned," Ezio muttered, licking a wet stripe up along the vein in Leonardo's neck, and then biting down over his jaw as the engineer shivered. Leonardo, fastidious as always, had taken the time to clean up at some point, his beard trimmed, the faint scent of soap lingering over his skin. "And then he decided to cheat just as I was trying to get him to admit defeat."

"That seems hard to believe." Leonardo said playfully, grinning when Ezio leant up momentarily to glare at him. The engineer's mouth latched on to the hollow of his neck even as Leonardo pressed against him, the hot, hard length of his arousal grinding against Ezio's hip. The assassin could feel himself stir in response, and he grasped Leonardo firmly through his breeches, squeezing gently until Leonardo whimpered and pushed his hips eagerly into the pressure.

"Leonardo, you are meant to be on _my_ side," Ezio breathed with mock indignation into Leonardo's ear, sinking his teeth carefully into the tender flesh of his ear lobe and tugging lightly, even as he walked his fingers down further, between the engineer's legs, rubbing lightly until Leonardo hastily undid the ties over his own breeches to relieve the pressure on his own flesh.

"Merely… extrapolating from… precedent," Leonardo was beginning to lose control of his tongue, arching with a low gasp as Ezio ran his thumb over the wetting tip, sliding it free of its sheath, running a nail lightly over the folds. "E-Ezio, I think, the bed."

"You think that the bed is what?" Ezio teased, stroking curiously through the coarser curls at the base, at the firm muscle and flesh. Palms pressed tightly over his shoulders as Leonardo kissed him, urgent and wet, whining deep in his throat, and Ezio relented, walking Leonardo carefully backwards until they fell in a tangle of limbs onto the bed. Like the rest of the room, it was gaudy and plush, the tattered gold thread that edged the quilt, the frayed Persian carpets, and the heavy wooden furniture all giving the impression of decaying decadence.

Leonardo caught Ezio's measuring stare and smiled wryly. "A brothel is not perhaps a particularly… fitting setting."

"You need wine, candles and rose petals?" Ezio rolled onto his back, pulling Leonardo on top of him, between his thighs, and when they kissed now it was slow, unhurried, Leonardo bracing his weight on an elbow, the fingers of his free hand entwining with Ezio's left hand. "I like brothels. Everyone is very practical and everything is negotiable. Also, the bedside dresser should have everything."

"You mean, there is a reason for your like of brothels that is other than it being a ready source of comfort and succor?" Leonardo asked dryly, his choice of words so eerily similar to Teodora's, in another life and another time, that Ezio had to hide his expression by nuzzling Leonardo's neck.

"There is a ready source right here." Ezio poked at Leonardo's chin, even as their hips moved together, the friction teasingly insufficient. "I think you had intended to broaden my education."

"In time." Leonardo, however, sat back to pull off Ezio's boots, and then his own, dumping them off the bed, then laughing as Ezio pulled him back down, rolling to pin Leonardo, sliding his hands down Leonardo's back and to the curve of his rump, hooking his thumbs into the loosened breeches and shucking them to his knees. When Ezio did the same to his breeches, then wet his palm with spit to stroke them together, swollen, leaking flesh slicking a heady friction between their bodies, Leonardo's chuckle became strained, breathless. "You are already an apt pupil."

"Merely demonstrating that you should move on with the syllabus, _insegnante_."

"Let me see the dresser before we decide on the rest of the syllabus," Leonardo concluded, flushing, his smile at once lustful and adoring as Ezio bent to meet his lips, clever fingers slipping between them to roll and pinch at his nipples, to trace old scars by memory alone, making him shudder and arch into Leonardo's touch. Leonardo's mastery of his body was intoxicating, and it was only grudgingly that Ezio finally allowed the engineer to shift to the edge of the bed to look at the dresser.

Marking Leonardo's hip and flanks instead with bites, paying special attention to the tender, sensitive inner thighs, he soon had the engineer squirming under him, long fingers slipping and pawing at the latch to the drawer, nearly wrenching it out of the dresser completely.

For a brief moment, Leonardo's sheer curiosity at the contents overrode even his evident considerable lust. "What is _that_?"

Ezio peered at the device that Leonardo was pointing at, and flushed slightly. "Ah… I do not think we will be using that here."

"You mean, it fits somewhere on a _woman_?"

"On a pair of women."

"I… what… I mean… _really_? I cannot really think of a particularly _safe_ application, let alone one that might be, as it were, arousing for the participants." Leonardo said, disbelieving, wriggling out from under Ezio to sift through the contents. "What about this one? It has an odd shape."

"That one hurts."

Leonardo eyed him thoughtfully. "I think someday we should have a bit of a _longer_ talk about your fondness of brothels."

Ezio glared at him, batting his hand away and sifting through the contents himself until he found the ubiquitous jar of lubricant. "After the death of my father it was Paola who took me in, who taught me to steal, to blend in with the crowd, who arranged the means for me to fix my blade. In Venezia it was also Teodora who helped me. When I visited either city I tended to room with them. No one looks very closely at the patrons in a brothel. They were like mothers, and then, like sisters."

"I did not mean any offence. It was not the same, here," Leonardo said meekly, his eyes downcast even as Ezio leant forward to kiss him.

"I know." Ezio kissed Leonardo until he had the engineer bent back over the bed, inserting a thigh between his legs and chuckling when Leonardo gasped and rubbed against him.

"Breeches…"

"What about breeches?" Ezio asked slyly, leaning further to sink his teeth carefully over Leonardo's neck, marking him.

"Off," Leonardo panted, his toes curled against Ezio's knee, pushing lightly. "_Ezio_."

"_Si, si_." Ezio relented, backing off to strip Leonardo of his breeches, slowly, following the slow exposure of Leonardo's flesh with his lips and teeth, and when he concluded with a kiss over the arch of the engineer's foot, Leonardo's eyes darkened with lust.

Within heartbeats their places were reversed, with Ezio sprawled back against the pillows and Leonardo kissing up his inner thighs, swatting away Ezio's palms when he tried to stop him. Save for whatever absolutions he could conduct on a ship full of pirates, Ezio had not yet had the chance to have a full, proper bath. "Leonardo, you do not need to-"

Leonardo responded by lapping a thick, wet swirl over the swollen tip, rounding off with a salacious lick over the leaking crown that forced a frantic whimper from Ezio's throat, his heels pushing insistently into the sheets. "Aah! Wait, _wait_."

"Close already?" Leonardo looked_ far_ too self satisfied, Ezio's arousal cupped in his beautiful fingers, his lips pressed in a lazy smile just under the swollen head, and Ezio was _surprised_ that he had enough cognition left in his lust-ridden brain to grope in the drawer.

Leonardo looked somewhat nonplussed when Ezio shakily pressed what he was looking for into his palm. "Uh. And this fits where? Do I wish to know?"

"Here," Ezio hissed, between clenched teeth, his body protesting loudly as he helped Leonardo fit the leather ring around the base of his prick, under his balls. "Not… _Gesù_, not so tight… all right, _bene_, like that."

Leonardo was peering at his work admiringly. "Such a simple idea, and yet quite ingenious in practical application. Two lengths of pressed leather stretched _here_ over a large bead to be positioned against the corpus cavernosum, and then the scrotum is-"

Ezio smacked the back of his palm briefly over his eyes, even as his prick informed his brain that it still hated him more than Leonardo's inappropriate sense of timing for scientific exposition. "Leonardo."

"_Si, si_," Leonardo mimicked Ezio playfully, bending to lick the tip, teasing, and before Ezio could muster his voice through his strangled breathing to complain, Leonardo _swallowed_, inch by glorious inch, his palms pressed hard against Ezio's bucking hips and his brow furrowed in concentration, strands of tawny tresses framing his cheeks, _almost_ all the way to the base.

Ezio's back was bowed so much that his cheek was pressed hard into the sheets, his hands digging deep into the gaudy sheets, and he bit down hard on his lip to stifle the hoarse wail. Embarrassing. Unmanly. _Cristo_. Leonardo was _amazing_. Ezio could not quite remember why this had not been a _fantastic_ idea from the very beginning.

And then Leonardo began to _suck_, somehow managing to use his _tongue_ at the same time, swirling and stroking, and what was left of Ezio's mind went white from liquid ecstasy. Something – evidently he had said _something_, because Leonardo's grip turned bruising over his hips, and then the devil, the angel between his thighs began to _hum_ and Ezio cried out.

His throat was raw when Leonardo pulled back, later, pulled back to whisper something he could not register into his ear and kiss him soothingly as he whined and writhed and heaved harsh, sobbing breaths against Leonardo's lips, trying to push Leonardo back down, his fingers slipping over sweat-slicked shoulders and curling into tawny hair.

"Like this," Leonardo whispered, strained, "So beautiful when you are undone."

Ezio blinked dumbly at Leonardo, struggling to speak, managing only a choked "_Please_" instead of an appropriate witticism, then he hissed and clutched at Leonardo's shoulders as the first finger pushed into him. Somewhere along the line Leonardo had slicked his fingers. Clever Leonardo. This was evidently why the previous Ezio had kept Leonardo around, so that… and… second finger… Ezio winced. Leonardo stroked his thighs, his flanks, whispering reassuring, loving nothings into Ezio's ear as the third finger _hurt_.

"Slow," Ezio growled, his tongue thick in his mouth, and Leonardo's answering smile was wan and tight.

"I, ah, _mi dispiace_," Leonardo was clearly struggling with his own lust, pressed against Ezio's thigh, and he pulled the engineer down for a kiss instead, open-mouthed and sloppy as he squirmed, waiting for his body to loosen.

Clever fingers, scissoring and moving deeper and- "_Merda!_"

"Better?"

Ezio glared mutely at Leonardo, struggling to find the words to tell Leonardo not to be a complete and utter teasing _stronzo_ and managed instead a hoarse, embarrassingly _wanting_ groan. "Please. _Please_."

Leonardo was pulling out his fingers. _Why_ was Leonardo pulling out his fingers? Ezio tried to sit up to take a look, struggling on boneless elbows, opening his mouth to protest, and then he sank back down with an incoherent snarl as Leonardo _pushed_ into him, slowly, _painfully_, and he could feel the pulse and throb of flesh as it stretched him impossibly wide, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony.

"Ezio, _Ezio_, my voice, listen to my voice," Leonardo's words were gasped next to his ear, and the nice hands had been wiped at some point, as they stroked his cheek, his neck, shoulders. Or maybe this was the other hand. Ezio's mind refused to process. "Ezio, open your eyes. Listen to me."

Ezio obeyed, blinking. "Wh-"

"Relax. Can you do that? _Caro mio_, _ti amo_, relax. _Per favore_. It will not hurt."

Leonardo was lying, Ezio felt mulishly, though he tried to concentrate. Leonardo was pressed _deep_, all the way within him, and as much as it hurt and felt foreign, _different_, it did not feel unwelcome. Still, he wasn't sure why the women allowed him to do this. Feeling a little guilty, Ezio tried to make some comment, and then his body _finally_ loosened further.

"Leo-"

"Better?" Leonardo rocked tentatively against him, and Ezio cursed, raking bloody furrows down the engineer's back. "_Scusi, scusi_."

"Kiss me," Ezio gasped, pulling Leonardo down until the burn finally eased. When he ground downwards, hesitantly, Leonardo stiffened and gasped his name, the words wrung out in such naked _need_ that Ezio's arousal, waning from the pain, began to thicken afresh. He moaned as Leonardo rocked again into him, slow, until Ezio learned to move awkwardly against his rhythm, and then Leonardo braced one palm against his shoulder, the other against his hip, and snapped _forward_ at another angle, and he convulsed with a shout.

"Good?" Leonardo was _smirking_. Long fingers closed _finally_God_yes_ over his much-abused flesh, stroking.

"_Porca troia_," Ezio exhaled, dizzy and staring up at the ceiling. "I think you will kill me."

Leonardo was laughing now, laughing as Ezio whined and ground back against him with embarrassing, pleading little moans that he was sure he wasn't the one making, stupid, hateful Leonardo… and Leonardo was removing the ring. Thank God. Ezio _loved_ Leonardo. Leonardo and his clever fingers. Three, four more deep, glorious, spine shattering thrusts and Ezio was over the brink, his throat too raw to do anything but moan ragged curses as he shuddered into completion, Leonardo watching him with such hungry intensity that his spent prick twitched weakly against his soiled belly. Panting hard, trying to catch his breath, Ezio was barely aware of Leonardo rocking into him again, unsteadily and rough, until he choked something incoherently against the assassin's cheek, kissed him so _deeply_ that Ezio whimpered.

II

"Ezio, this is the _serdar_," Malik introduced, when a girl brought Ezio into the office of the brothel. "Perhaps not the same linguistic meaning as a _rafiq_, but she holds approximately the same duties."

The office was oddly plain and spartan compared to the rest of the brothel, with one painting of the docks behind the desk serving as its only decoration. The rest of the room was filled with obsessively neat shelves stacked with ledger books, the furniture serviceable but cheap, the cushions on the chairs worn and frayed. Malik and the _serdar_ had clearly been in the process of having refreshments: cups of half-finished _caffe_ and a plate of sweets sat partially ignored over a large scroll of a map, obscured in turn by sheets of scrawled reports.

The _serdar_ was a remarkably beautiful woman, her beauty ageless and elegant even with the crow's feet at her almond, rich chocolate eyes and the wrinkles creeping over her brow, her painted smile mysterious and enigmatic. She wore a white _tesettür _and _burka_, her hands under the long sleeves gloved in black, a blood red sash at her waist. She was not openly armed, but Ezio did not doubt that she was.

"_Günaydın_, Ezio Auditore. Or perhaps I should say, _buon giorno_." The _serdar_ spoke a thickly spiced, exotic Italian.

"_Buon giorno, bella signorina_," Ezio reached instinctively for the lady's wrist, hesitating at the last moment as he tried to remember if Altaïr had said anything about Turkish women, and then the _serdar_ chuckled, soft and amused, presenting her wrist for a kiss. "Suddenly I am very happy that we have come to Antalya."

Malik shook his head slowly, settling back in his chair. "And a fine limp you are hiding, Ezio."

"Ah, well, that-"

"Can you even sit?"

"I think I would prefer to stand." Ezio stifled his grimace, shooting Malik a warning glare, as the _serdar_ sank back into her seat. "You said that I could assist the _serdar_ in some way?"

"Not as you are now," Malik drawled. "Honestly, Ezio, I am surprised that you are even up and about. Where is Leonardo?"

"Sleeping," Ezio growled. Malik was _not_ being in the _least_ helpful. "And what are you talking about, Malik? I can go on missions." He tried smiling winningly at the _serdar_, but she only chuckled again, unmoved. "Especially if it is in the service of such a beautiful woman."

"We are here to discuss logistics, Ezio. It is a good thing that the _serdar_ managed to contact us with a letter in Latakia. Prior to that, we had expected no aid whatsoever until Ortona."

"We of the _kartal_ have our own affairs," The _serdar_ said quietly. "Until we learned what Ezio carried, what he _is_, we could not afford to give you sanctuary."

"What he _is_?" Malik frowned, very slightly. "Please elaborate, _serdar_."

"What… how did you learn this?"

"We of the _kartal_ have our own ways, Ezio Auditore. The Sight that you call Eagle Vision, Second Sight, the Sixth Sense, it can be trained to do more than tell friend from foe."

"Malik," Ezio said uncomfortably, "Could you please leave the room for a moment? Please? I must speak privately with the _serdar_."

"I _refuse_," Malik said flatly. "You, you and Altaïr, since that time _La Volpe_ arrived in Masyaf the both of you have been hoarding some sort of secret, and as much as it is not unlike Altaïr to have his secrets it must be something I need to know if you can keep it from your father. Whatever it is it has been eating at you since the beginning. _That_ much I can tell."

"Then," Ezio retorted, "Perhaps the _serdar_ and I can have this conversation later. I gave my word to _La Volpe_," he added, by way of conciliation, when Malik bared his teeth, "And I will _not_ break it."

"You have given your word but the _serdar_ has not," Malik pointed out. "So-"

"_Günaydın, serdar_." Altair said mildly from behind Ezio, much to his relief. A bloodied feather was handed to the _serdar_, and then the maimed left hand patted his rump, making Ezio flinch and yelp from the pain. Altair, the _bastardo_, merely smirked. "Was I interrupting something?"

"You and Ezio," Malik growled, "And _La Volpe_. I want to know what this secret of yours is, Altaïr. We go to face Rodrigo. It is only fair that I should know what it is that the both of you are hiding!"

"Trust in your friends," the _serdar_ touched Malik lightly on the elbow. "When they are ready to tell you, they will."

"That may be never!"

"Patience. Patience and peace."

Malik threw up his hand in exasperation, jerking away from the _serdar_ and striding out of the room, his jaw clenched. Altaïr glanced at Ezio, then at the _serdar_. "_Özür dilerim_, _serdar_. Malik's temper wakes but rarely."

"Go after him. I need to speak with the _serdar_," Ezio suggested. Altaïr nodded curtly, inclining his head to the _serdar_ before retreating from the room after Malik. "You said that you can see what I am."

"You and the Piece that you have do not belong here." The _serdar_ agreed, her tone turning crisp. "But you are friend, not foe. You mean well."

"I mean well," Ezio said slowly, Rodrigo's words rising back to his mind. "I want to."

"At the very end of all things, that is usually the best that we can hope for." The _serdar_ smiled gently. "You have a good heart, Ezio Auditore. A good heart with a strong soul."

"I hope so." Ezio sighed. "Have you met _La Volpe_ before, _serdar_?"

"I have seen him. But we were not introduced."

"Do you know _what_ he is?"

"He is one of us," The _serdar_ shrugged. "And yet he is not. His heart is no longer human, I think. He is _ölümsüz_, an immortal, an outsider from Time."

"Can I trust him?"

"I would not trust_ anyone_, Ezio," The _serdar_ smiled lightly. "But that is the _kartal_ way. What does your Sight say?"

"That he is an ally."

"Then, he is an ally," The _serdar _raised one slender palm when Ezio opened his mouth to protest. "One eye on your enemy. One eye on your friends. Your back to the wall. That is also the _kartal_ way."

"Then," Ezio tried another tack, "Can I trust the Apple?"

"The Apple? You mean the Piece that you have?" The _serdar_ sighed, when Ezio nodded slowly. "We have another name for that one. You call it the Apple, we call it the Eye of God. It will speak God's Truth to you, and so, it is not to be trusted. If you would use it, ask it not for answers but for proof, and draw your own conclusions."

"I see." Ezio looked down at the pouch at his hip. "Thank you for your counsel, _serdar_."

"You are welcome. Go and find your friends. There are matters that we must discuss which may affect the rest of your journey to Ortona."

-tbc. The things I have to look up for you guys. Like whether or not there were rubber cock rings in the 15th Century. I mean seriously even wiki's entry has traumatic pictures. I settled on leather. It seems safer. First part written around 1-3am (fuuuck lol) so hopefully it's coherent. Edited twice.-


	17. Chapter 17

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 17

I

Now that Malik's resentment was out in the open, the secret hung between the _Maestri_, a festering, ugly and constant presence. Tempers became shorter and shorter until even Piotr left the _Maestri_ alone to their silent warfare. Ezio and Leonardo tried a few times to approach either party to negotiate a ceasefire, but were usually quickly driven off. Under his usual amiable poise, Malik could hide _such_ a mean temper, and worse, a vicious tongue.

Even the sleek ship soon became claustrophobic, and as such, when they finally sighted Ortona, Ezio exhaled in relief. This time, once the ship docked, Altaïr darted away, from posts to boats to the jetty, and was swept into the crowds.

Piotr looked at Ezio, then at Malik leaning against the mainmast, and seemed to visibly steel himself to approach the _Maestro_. "Al-Sayf."

"Thank you for your efforts, Captain," Malik said shortly, pointedly not looking in the direction by which Altaïr had gone. "And apologies for any inconvenience."

"No, no, there was no inconvenience. We were headed to Venezia in any regard." Piotr said hastily. "Give my regards to our mutual friend, when you see him."

"Yes, I will. And at great length," Malik said coldly. "Ezio."

"Yes!" Ezio flinched, and stifled his instinctive urge to push Leonardo behind him when Malik swung his stare towards them.

"Come with me. We need to find lodging, and then arrange for a means of transport. I take it that you Italian _assassino_ have never gone to the effort of upkeeping Bureaus."

"Even if we have," Ezio said warily, giving Malik a wide berth as the _Maestro_ strolled down the gangplank, "We have already lost Italia."

"Hmph." Malik threaded through dock laborers and beggars, his expression so stormy that even burly sailors hastened to get out of his path. Leonardo shot Ezio an expression of worry, and then he straightened, apparently rallying his courage.

"Malik, have you been to Ortona before?" Leonardo asked meekly, trying to sound lighthearted.

"No."

"So the last time you were in Italia-"

"Ancona to Forlì."

"Since we are here, Ortona has a few beautiful stretches of beaches-"

"Waste of time."

"Or, there used to be a place which had very good seafood pasta, fresh mussels-"

"I am not fond of Italian food."

Leonardo deflated visibly, and hidden by the press of bodies, Ezio stroked his lover's back comfortingly. "Malik, if you are angry then be angry with me and Altaïr. Leave Leonardo out of it."

"Should I?" Malik growled, stalking down a narrow street and glaring at a beggar who dared inch up into his path. The scrawny, sore-ridden man hastily scrambled away. "When Leonardo knows?"

Startled, Ezio asked, "How did you know that Leonardo knows?"

"I thought it was likely. Now what you have just said confirms it."

Ezio let out a deep sigh and silently cursed his mouth, even as Leonardo reached behind them to squeeze his hand gently. The engineer covered his mouth, as though hiding a grin, and Ezio glared at him briefly. "Leonardo found out by accident."

"And so, if he had not, given time, you would not have told him?"

"Well," Ezio hedged, glancing at Leonardo, who made a frantic gesture and shook his head quickly. "Um, no."

"You are a poor liar." Malik swept out of the crowd and down an empty alleyway, so quickly that Ezio and Leonardo had to jog to keep up. "Even when you could not remember who he was to you, when you could not endure a man's touch, your love for Leonardo was there, because it was absolute. Anything that you could do to each other was trivial, easily forgiven. Secrets do not survive such a form of love."

"You and Altaïr-"

"Ours was born of guilt and forged in tragedy." Malik said, coming up to a junction of alleys and turning to his right, sidestepping filthy puddles and piles of steaming refuse. "And as you have observed, what with our games and our lack of trust in each other, it is a gnarled thing, scarred and malformed. _It_ does not survive secrets."

"That is not true!" Ezio darted forward, spinning Malik around from his shoulders and grabbing his collar with both hands. "It is as clear as day that he cares for you, that you care for him! And he trusts you."

"He trusts me to rule Masyaf, but little else."

"This secret has _nothing_ to do with it. Altaïr just wants to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Malik countered rhetorically, tapping at the shoulder of his left, missing arm, the artificial limb dangling uselessly under his sleeve. "Because he does not trust me to protect myself. Remember our sparring match, Ezio? I lost my arm a long time ago-"

"Guilt," Ezio repeated, as revelation dawned. "Altaïr was the cause?"

"His conceit was the cause. He was young. Because of his mistake I lost my brother and my arm. He has made up for this since; he has more than done so. But still he cannot forgive himself. And then Adha died, his wife, his beautiful children, and now he cannot love without at the same time being consumed with fear that he would again lose everything."

Rodrigo's words, that the Apple and the Staff would be the end of this world. Would that mean that Altaïr would turn on _La Volpe_? Worse, was it possible that Altaïr had another agenda? He too had heard _La Volpe_ say that the use of the Apple or the Staff caused this world to fracture further.

Someone with a mind as quick as Altaïr's should have instantly drawn conclusions on what would occur the moment that Ezio and Rodrigo met in true battle. If he was afraid of losing everything… still, Ezio refused to complete that thought. He _had_ to trust Altaïr, Malik. In his time, Altaïr was the most famous of the Assassins of the Creed. If he could not trust Altaïr then he could not trust any of his brothers in the Creed.

"You are silent." Malik said, evidently misinterpreting Ezio's reverie for speechlessness. "I know you want to fix the world and all of its problems, Ezio. But some things are none of your concern and out of your ability. This problem of ours has been plaguing us for a long time, forgotten and overlooked. Perhaps it is just time that we had it out between us."

"If you _really_ need to know-"

"Even if you ask Leonardo to tell me I will not want to hear it from either of you. This is a matter of trust, between myself and Altaïr."

"He too, gave _La Volpe_ his word."

"If he can look me in the eyes and tell me that the reason he keeps this from me is his word to _La Volpe_, then so be it." Malik clapped Ezio on his shoulder, and pulled out of his grasp. "But like you, he is a poor liar."

Ezio looked helplessly to Leonardo for a suggestion, but the engineer merely smiled hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable. Ezio sighed. "Malik, can you take care of Leonardo? I will go look for Altaïr."

"Leonardo will be safe with me," Malik assured him, narrowing his eyes, "But you with Altaïr, I am not so sure. He is in a foul mood."

"_You_ are in a foul mood," Ezio said teasingly.

"And so you will abandon Leonardo to my mercy?"

Ezio took it as a sign of improvement that Malik's sense of humor was returning. "I think Leonardo can survive being verbally mauled for a few hours."

"I will be safe with Malik," Leonardo said, with a weak grin, evidently not as convinced of his own fortitude as Ezio was. "Do what you must, _caro mio_."

"I will try and return as soon as I can. Hopefully with our wayward friend." Ezio stepped forward to embrace Leonardo, kissing him swiftly, purring as Leonardo leant hungrily up against him.

"You mean, hopefully without injuries," Malik said dryly, once they broke for air. "Remember, the _serdar _suggested an inn near to the castle, called the Blue Gull. We will be there."

"If Altaïr gets too angry, _Maestro_, then I will simply exercise the tried and tested strategy of running back and hiding behind you," Ezio said cheerfully, pressing a last, quick kiss to Leonardo's lips before scaling the nearest wall.

II

"He has calmed down," Ezio announced, once he was within hearing. Altaïr, predictably, was perched on the sill of a bell tower, seated with his legs dangling in the air before the silent ironwork bell. Carefully, Ezio edged up to sit down beside him, albeit at a respectful distance.

"He does that." Altaïr said, only the thin line to his mouth indicative of his inner turmoil. "Malik merely needed a little space."

"He told me about his arm." Altaïr straightened slightly, but did not answer. Carefully, Ezio added, "He has long forgiven you."

"I know."

"So-"

"If through sheer arrogance you had caused Leonardo to lose a loved one and his arm, would you so easily forgive it of yourself?"

"No," Ezio sighed. "I suppose not. But if Leonardo was willing to forgive me, willing to love me despite all of my mistakes, then I would not let it come between us to the point that he too is punished for my own guilt."

Altaïr grit his teeth, his fingers clawed into the stone for a moment, then he ground out, "It is easy to say this, when you do not know what it is like."

"_Si_, I do not know, but I do not like seeing the both of you torment yourselves. It is a little," Ezio tried humor with a faint grin, "Like I am a child, watching my parents fight. Very uncomfortable. So I think that maybe you should try to hate yourself a little less."

Altaïr glared at him briefly under his cowl before staring back down at the port city. "It is not your concern."

"Just so you are aware, Malik blames all of us. Including Leonardo."

"I will speak with him."

"Good! Now?"

Altaïr bared his teeth briefly, but there was thankfully no violence. "Is that why you are here?"

"In part." Running around Ortona looking for people robed in white and red had given him a little perspective. If he had to counsel Altaïr about trust, then he could do no less than to trust them, himself. "That time on the ship. Rodrigo spoke to me. He sent an image, while I was up on the mast."

Altaïr stiffened, his palms flattening against the sill. "Rodrigo?"

"He told me not to trust _La Volpe_, that what _La Volpe_ means to do is to destroy this world, as it is not meant to be. That _La Volpe_ is neither an Assassin nor a Templar, that he keeps the balance between the worlds, between factions that grow too powerful within their own. Like here. The Assassins and the Templar own territories, like kings, and time is skewed."

"He said also that _La Volpe_ means to destroy the world by encouraging us to fight, that when the Apple is raised against the Staff, the world will fall, and all of us will be destroyed. He asked for a truce, that at the very end, we turn against _La Volpe_, and then we activate the tomb in Roma and leave to our own times. He suggested that this way, this world will be intact, and we will survive."

"I would not trust a Templar."

"I told him that as well. So he told me to trust the Apple." Ezio stared up into the sky, the warmth of the sun on his cheeks. "But the _serdar_ told me that the Apple is not to be trusted."

"She is wise. It is not." Altaïr said, mulling Ezio's words over. "And the Templars, they war in many ways. It is very possible that he merely said this to throw you off balance."

"_La Volpe_ is not human. And he told me at the beginning, that this world should not be." Ezio exhaled. "Even if I can never return, I will _not_ be the death of everyone within it."

"And so you asked me for permission to use the Apple."

"I need to make sure. I need to know more about _La Volpe_."

"It will answer your questions with riddles. Worse, it may take your mind."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We will be meeting _La Volpe_ outside of Roma, with your friend, Antonio. We will confront him there." Altaïr said quietly. "Before then, draw no further conclusions. As I said, more than likely, it is a Templar trick."

"_Va bene_." Ezio said, feeling relieved that the weight upon his heart was dissipating.

"Why did you not tell me from the beginning?"

"There was no chance to get you alone on the ship, and I did not know what to think. And-"

"And you think that I will not trust you to make the right choice?"

"Altaïr-"

"The _Maestri_ agreed to give you the Apple for a reason." Altaïr got to his feet, dusting off his robes, and then extending a hand to help Ezio up. "Think about that the next time a Templar appears before you."

"I think we should tell Malik. If not now, then later, at Roma. It is not about the two of you," Ezio added, as Altaïr frowned. "I think it is only fair that he should know. And if we fail, then at least at the end there are no secrets between you both."

"I try not to make contingencies for failure," Altaïr said dryly, a little more like his usual self. "Let me think about it. And as to the Apple, Rodrigo's appearance brings us a more immediate problem. He can somehow see us. Perhaps the Apple is like a beacon. So before Roma, I think there is a practical necessity for you to use it, if you are certain that the addiction will not take you."

Ezio grimaced. _This_ he had overlooked, stupidly enough. The very thought that Rodrigo might have been watching them all the way, that he had put Leonardo in danger because he had not thought to consider the breach in their stealth, chilled him. "Then at the least I have to find a way to shield us."

"So you should. At the inn, I think. Look into the Apple. But be careful."

"I will. Shall we go? Or do you want to sulk a little more?"

"Insolent child," Altaïr snorted, but he stepped out and into the sky.

III

Now that he knew what to look out for, navigating the Apple was a little easier. Ezio woke by himself, though disoriented and nauseous. He was on one of the beds of their shared room in the inn, and at some point it seemed his head had moved onto Leonardo's lap. Jerkily, he put the Apple back into its pouch, taking slow, deep breaths to swallow the bile rising in his throat. Cool fingers brushed at his brow, at his cheeks.

"Ezio, are you well?" Leonardo sounded anxious.

"Moment. One moment." Ezio said shallowly, taking a slow breath, then another. He had seen what he needed. "I… when… when I voluntarily attempt to leave, it is always like this, afterwards. Where are the _Maestri_? I need to tell them-"

"Still, ah, discussing things," Leonardo said delicately. "I was only supposed to fetch them if I could not wake you within an hour."

"It is very quiet for a discussion," Ezio said doubtfully, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating on his hearing, as he had once been taught, by Paola and then by Antonio. He could hear the chatter of patrons at the taproom, a sure step on the stair by a maid, a winding, unsteady stagger threading towards a room, a drunkard.

"I think they are having a serious conversation."

"When they have serious conversations they shout at each other." Ezio pointed out, rolling off Leonardo's lap. "I am going to take a look."

"I _really_ do not think-"

"Through the window, obviously."

"What do you mean, _obviously_? We are on the second floor!"

"By climbing out of the window, _obviously_." Ezio walked carefully in a circle until his nausea fully abated, and then pulled up the window, stepping up onto the sill.

"_Ezio_." Leonardo, however, was stifling a chuckle, indulgent. "They are going to kill you."

"You always assume the worst of people. I am genuinely concerned that they may have killed each other," Ezio retorted, edging out carefully onto a foothold, leaning up to jam his fingers into a crack.

Leonardo leaned out of the window to watch him. "You mean you are genuinely trying to spy on a private moment."

"We are all assassins, there is no such thing as a private moment when I am concerned, as I say, about another's life."

"You mean that you are trying to find some sort of juvenile ammunition with which to annoy Altaïr on the morrow."

Leonardo knew him _so_ well.

Gingerly lowering himself onto another foothold, Ezio peered into the dirty window, blinked, smirked, and then climbed back into his room.

"See." Leonardo folded his arms. "I said they were discussing things."

"They are _so_ quiet. It is not human." Ezio observed.

"I think it is discipline."

"_Discipline_? I think it is _repression_. Not healthy in the least. Did you tell Malik?"

"No. He asked me not to."

"Then Altaïr broke his word?"

"I do not know. I doubt it." Leonardo said, thinking. "What _did_ you say to Altaïr, earlier?"

"A little about harmful guilt, and the irrelevance of old ghosts." Ezio pulled Leonardo towards him, brushing their lips together. "I do not think they will resolve anything. But I think it is a step. Someday if I ever decide to retire perhaps I can counsel couples."

Leonardo chuckled. "You mean with your fists? I have seen what you _usually_ term counseling."

"The _bastardo _husband always goes back to his wife, does he not?" Ezio grinned. "Whatever works." He kissed Leonardo again, deeper, as practiced fingers slipped into his shirt, under the baldric.

IV

In the morning, on their way out of the city to join a merchant caravan train as suggested by the _serdar_, Ezio waited for the crowds to hide them before slapping Altaïr smartly on the rump, smirking at the hiss of pain and the murderous stare, and then dodging the swipe.

It was going to be a _good_ day.

-tbc: Ezio, counselor extraordinaire! I did enjoy beating up all those unfaithful husbands in the game though. Hilarious. I did accidentally kill one of them immediately after I got the 'mission complete' admittedly. Sorry. This was a bit of a non-movement chapter. I had _originally_ intended to move to Roma, but Malik decided to have a bit of a hissy fit and somehow it became exposition central -_-.

At present, I think I can finish the story in maybe 2 chapters. ;3 Also, it looks like I've written myself out of mixing up the pairings in a more than PG13 situation, ah well. I can't imagine how it can possibly fit character at this point. All of my art and fiction are creative commons, though, so save for outright plagiarism or commercial profit feel free to use any ideas or story settings.

Also, since everything is in Ezio's POV, it will be very difficult to have more Altaïr x Malik. But like I have said, there are tons of that pairing anyway, so it's not like anyone is missing out. :D Thanks for reading! I will try to finish this monster soon.-


	18. Chapter 18

[A/N: I usually prefer to release final chapters + epilogues together, but then I'm not sure if I will be writing any quicker past Thursday (one can hope!) so I thought maybe everyone will want to know what happens first before I tie up all the loose ends.]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 18

I

One of Antonio's thieves, Ugo, met them a day's ride from Roma, waiting in the shadow of a ruined stable, leading five horses behind him. Despite Ezio's cheerful greeting, Ugo was grim and silent, offering only monosyllabic replies and curt nods to their pleasantries, and the ride to Antonio took place in uncomfortable silence.

The entryway turned out to be a crumbling crypt in the graveyard of the ruins of a village that Ezio did not remember having seen before in _his_ time, within sight of Roma. The horses seemed used to the underground, meekly allowing their riders to guide them in single file into a darkness that smelled of stale air and warm horse.

Downwards, downwards, in a gentle incline, so silent that Ezio felt distinctly claustrophobic, thinking about all the soil and stone above him, and it was only the reassuring bulk of the horse beside him that stopped him from bolting forward in his impatience.

When Leonardo abruptly spoke, cheerfully, a horse's length behind him, Ezio was so _relieved_ that he had to stifle a cough. "These tunnels were cut years ago and shored up with timber. I smell rot. Perhaps you should suggest to Antonio that he makes the support out of stone, instead, to be safe."

Ezio muttered darkly under his breath. _Now_ he was definitely claustrophobic. "Thank you for the input, Leonardo."

"It is strange that we did not hear about this location earlier, friend Ugo," Malik said genially, a horse's length before Ezio. "There is really only _so_ far that secrecy should apply."

"We dug ourselves in for safety," Ugo said flatly, though it was more words than Ezio had heard from him in an hour. "It was an illusion of safety."

"_La Volpe_ found you."

"He was not the first ones to find us."

"Then this place is compromised," Altaïr said warily, further ahead. "How can you still use it?"

"_This_ place is not. The area is. We paid dearly to protect our secrecy." Ugo said coldly. "And where were the rest of you? Where were the Auditore? Running away to Syria, your tails between your legs!"

"Ugo," Ezio said cautiously, startled at the venomous anger in the thief's voice. "We had no choice."

"_Si_, Monteriggioni had fallen. So you abandoned Italia to the Templars. When the Auditore were gone, Leonardo with them, that was when we truly lost the war here." Ugo retorted, bitter. "And then all we could do was wait for death."

"We go now to fight Rodrigo," Malik pointed out urbanely, again the diplomat. "Things will be reversed."

"If I help you now, it is only in the hope of hastening you to your death, Auditore." Ugo growled. "Go and fight Rodrigo, and die."

Before Ezio could come up with a suitable answer, the darkness ceded to a faint, rectangular outline of light. A doorway. The horses' pace picked up, as the animals sensed home, and soon Ugo was opening a wooden door into a large, hollowed space. A stable, filled with other horses, poorly ventilated and rank with the stench of too many animals packed in one space. Thieves took the reins of their mounts from them, and Ugo led them over fresh rushes and hay to the exit beyond it.

Another long corridor ceded, much to Ezio's amazement, to ancient, paved stone, and then a dark _street_, lit with oil lamps hung from crumbling arches. The rooftops and walls had long sunk into the soil and stone around them, the weight of the earth above them buttressed by newer, wooden struts.

"We are under Roma," Leonardo said slowly, wide-eyed as he looked around them, fascinated. "This is before Roma. Look at the construction! Why, this is amazing, that it has still survived!"

"A dead town," Malik murmured, equally amazed. "And under Roma, you say."

If they were under Roma, then perhaps Antonio _truly_ had a way to Rodrigo. While he was about to say so, Altaïr beat him to the mark. "Then perhaps we _do_ have a good way into the Basilica."

Ugo, however, made no comment, until they were at a courtyard, where a sightless, crumbling statue, its arms long lost, stood curled over a dry fountain, a lantern hooked around its neck. Beside it, seated at a table overflowing with scrolls of maps, were _La Volpe_ and Antonio. Antonio rose to greet them, exchanging formal bows with the _Maestri_, clasping Leonardo's hand firmly, and finally, enveloping Ezio in a bear hug.

"I heard what happened to you," Antonio said, clapping his shoulder. "I am sorry. I hope that your memory returns swiftly."

"Slowly, it is coming back," Ezio lied, with a quick smile. "If you owe me any money, I may even remember _that_ soon."

"Hah! At least your humor has survived intact." Antonio drawled, with a sidelong glance between him and Leonardo. "And what you had with Leonardo, it seems."

"That one is a work in progress." Ezio did, however, slip a possessive arm around Leonardo's waist. He could see that Altaïr was watching _La Volpe,_ if unobtrusively. They would have to find some way to speak to the immortal privately. "Where is Rosa?"

Instantly, Antonio's smile froze, and the abrupt silence from the watching thieves told Ezio clearly enough that something was very wrong. "She is injured?"

"She is dead, Ezio," Antonio said shortly, all the friendliness leached from his tone. "It was not a good death."

_We paid dearly to protect our secrecy_. Ugo's words echoed uncomfortably in his memory. "I… I am so sorry to hear that. Antonio-"

"It may have been good for you," Antonio sighed harshly, returning to slump into his seat at the table. "If she were alive, if all of us were alive, I would not have agreed to help you in your suicide mission. Now there is little to protect. Hatred is what we have left."

"We need only a way to Rodrigo," Altaïr pointed out, his expression unreadable. "Not an army."

"And how do you intend to get to Rodrigo save with an army?" Antonio countered thinly. "You know what Roma is like."

"Is _that_ your solution?" Malik rounded on _La Volpe_, his eyes narrowed.

"You need a diversion," _La Volpe_ said calmly. "Antonio has volunteered." Violet eyes regarded Leonardo briefly, solemn. "I am not sure why _you_ have brought a non-combatant."

"If you have something in this place that can pass as a forge, metals, a few simple chemicals, I can make devices and bombs," Leonardo said, unflinching. "It will help in a diversion."

"We have a forge, but it is ill-used," Antonio admitted, looking at Leonardo appraisingly. "It will be a pleasure and an honor to see you at work again, Leonardo."

"Hopefully with a little more efficacy this time round," Leonardo said soberly. "Though, it will take time to cast any weapons."

"We still have some of your pistol casts and molds from Firenze," Antonio said, then he grinned, a little more like the Antonio that Ezio knew, when the assassin stared at him. "I am foremost a thief, Ezio. And it did not look like your family wanted them at that point."

"_All_ of you will go?" A sudden thought occurred to Ezio. "No one will remain here?"

"We have injured. Some sick. We will leave the bare minimum here, to keep the place running if the rest of us manage to return." From Antonio's tone, he did not think this likely. "Why?"

"I need to know if Leonardo will be safe here." Ezio curled his fingers tightly over Leonardo's hip.

"As safe as any Assassin or his associates can be, this close to Roma," Antonio's lip curled briefly. "If the lot of you fail to kill Rodrigo, I doubt that Leonardo can make it back to Masyaf by himself."

Ezio did not like those stakes, but Leonardo merely reached up to touch his cheek, smiling at him wryly. "Do not think that this never occurred to me, _caro mio_. Even had it been a surety that I would not survive to return to Masyaf, I would not have changed my mind."

"But-"

"Think of it as an incentive to survive," Malik said acerbically. "_I_ do not intend to die to Rodrigo. Now, what is the plan? I assume that we _have_ a plan, that is a little more complicated than emerging into Roma and cutting a path to Rodrigo?"

"What is wrong with that plan? I like that plan," Ezio said mischievously.

"Be quiet, Ezio."

"We have several possible ways up into the Basilica," Antonio said, splaying his palms over the map on the table. A few of them lead up into the Basilica itself. I propose using those, for the diversion. In the meantime-"

"There is a way to scale up the battlements, from the water," Ezio said, feeling the ghost of old pain over his belly as he said so. "Across the watchtowers. If you bypass the guards you can sneak into a refractory, and then, to a chapel. Rodrigo should be waiting for us there."

Antonio stared at him oddly. "How did you know?"

"He has been using the Apple. Under strict guidance, of course," Altaïr cut in, with a sharp glance at Ezio.

"Good, so half of our problems have been resolved." Antonio said, glancing back down at the map. "Ezio, could you trace the route that you have described?"

II

Altaïr somehow managed to rope Malik into following Leonardo into the smithy, stall Antonio into worrying about materials, and then corral _La Volpe_ and Ezio into a cleared room of one of the ancient houses. This one looked like it had been fitted out to be a storage room for dry foodstuffs, and it smelled pervasively of _caffe_ and cloves.

_La Volpe_ made a brief gesture at the doorway, then he leaned against the rotted frame, his arms folded. "Yes?"

"Rodrigo spoke to me when I was on board the ship to Ortona," Ezio began quickly, before Altaïr could open with an accusation. "He said that you intend to destroy this world – this reality."

"You should learn to take the words of the Templars with a large pinch of salt, Ezio," _La Volpe_ said dryly. "Those who bear the Mark of Cain follow the Father of Understanding, whose best weapon has always been his tongue."

"So you do _not_ intend to destroy it," Ezio said, relieved.

"I did not say that." _La Volpe_ sighed when Altaïr bared his teeth. "Look. This is why I do not like involving those who are native to this particular timestream. Whether this world is destroyed or not, it makes no difference to me. This world should not be; the probability it feeds to the river is parasitic, but I am here as a bystander now. I must be there at the tomb with you, at the end, but what happens is up to you and Rodrigo."

"I asked the Apple for information about you," Ezio said, exasperated, "It told me that _you_ are the Prophet. Not I! Why did you not tell the others, in Venezia? Why was I the one sent to face Rodrigo? The Prophet must bring the Pieces to the shadow of the tomb, must he not, to open it? And yet it opened, under Rodrigo's hand, for now I am here!"

"If you look closely at the wording of the prophecies, there is always a lot of space for lateral movement," _La Volpe_ said, unimpressed by the outburst. "Did the tomb open, Ezio? Did you see it do so?"

"Well," Ezio said, a little taken aback, "Rodrigo said he opened it."

"And what did I tell you about Templars and their words?"

"Then how do you explain why Rodrigo and I are here?"

"The trigger for the conduit and the tomb opening are two different things, Ezio, and the prophecy you heard from Mario and the others is incomplete. The Apple can sense this. Did it say that you were _not_ the Prophet?"

"It said that _you_ were the Prophet," Ezio snapped, frustrated at _La Volpe's_ illogic. "So therefore, _clearly_, I cannot be the Prophet! Stop trying to provoke me, old man-"

"I want an explanation before we go further," Altaïr interrupted. "_What_ is the Prophet? What are _you_?"

"The term is a little misleading," _La Volpe_ said mildly. "The Prophet tends to be more of a guide. As to what I am, I am merely an old thief, Altaïr. Did the Apple tell you more, Ezio?"

"It said that the Prophet's death is the trigger for the tomb to open," Ezio said slowly, "You expect to die, do you not, in the presence of the tomb and the Pieces? You _know_ you will die!"

"A very long life has told me to expect nothing," _La Volpe_ retorted, "As well as not to fear death, if or when it comes. It might even be a bit of a rest, in my case. Any more?"

"The death of the Prophet will cause his will to be done, and then, the balance will be corrected, and the cycle of rebirth will begin anew," Ezio recalled the sleet of text that had rushed like a breaking dam around him, when he had 'asked' for the information. "What is your will, _La Volpe_?"

"Now that would be long in the telling," _La Volpe_ smiled, humorless.

"_La Volpe_," Altaïr growled, his tone menacing. "Do _not _think that-"

"How do I read in the Sight, Altaïr?"

"Blue," Altaïr said grudgingly, even as Ezio also guiltily checked. "But I have been wrong before."

"You know how the Sight works, Altaïr. What is your main intention?"

"To stop Rodrigo."

"Then we share the same goal." _La Volpe_ said, "And so, I read blue."

"We can confine you here," Ezio ventured, even if he felt somewhat stupid for even suggesting the fact. _La Volpe_, after all, was the most famous thief of all, so Antonio had told him, in a different time.

"You could try," _La Volpe_ smirked. "If you try hard enough it might even amuse me for a while."

"You said that you were here as a bystander."

"And so I am, up until it is necessary not to be one."

"I will not suffer this world to be destroyed," Ezio said hotly, "Just because you think that it is 'not right' for your damnable 'balance'."

"I said that matters are up to you and Rodrigo," _La Volpe_ replied, annoyingly cryptic again.

"You mean, whether I agree to team up with him to kill you?"

"That is a possibility," _La Volpe_ shrugged, unconcerned.

Altaïr muttered a foul curse under his breath, then, "I feel like killing you _right now_ myself. Maybe that will solve all of our problems."

"Altaïr," Ezio said, in warning.

Altaïr glared at him briefly. "You have to admit that it is tempting."

"No."

"If the both of you have quite finished posturing," _La Volpe_ said blandly, "You have a few more days, while that friend of yours casts weaponry for the diversion. I trust that you will use them well. Meditation and contemplation is far better for the soul than debauching your colleagues, by the way, but I often find such finer points lost on barbarians."

"All right," Ezio said, glancing at Altaïr, "I see your point."

III

It was difficult to stifle his voice under Leonardo's touch, even though he _knew_ that sound would carry in the enclosed, underground space, facedown on rough cotton sheets with his fists twisted in the bedframe, the pillows, the sheets, rough and frantic, between their shared, coarsening breaths there was no room for regret and its bedfellows, no farewells or confessions.

IV

Rodrigo had been expecting them. The path that Ezio had walked before was clear of guardsmen, and when they dropped down into the chapel, Rodrigo was seated at the second row of the pews, his boots propped up on the bench before him, the staff in his hands. Beyond, they could still hear the faint, booming roars of explosions, as Antonio and his thieves emerged elsewhere in the Basilica to wreak havoc.

"I take it you have not decided to grow a spine after all, Auditore child?"

Altaïr started forward silently, before Ezio could stop him, using the sixth pew as a stepping stone up into the air, the blade in his left hand unsheathed, only to grunt as he impacted an invisible shell around Rodrigo, that sparked lighting up his limbs and threw him heavily, smashing the _Maestri_ into the wall.

Then Malik was there, darting to Rodrigo's side, his first blow parried by the staff, but the _Maestro_ was faster, streaking away and to Rodrigo's back, his blade upraised-

-only for Rodrigo to slam the butt of his staff heavily onto the ground. A shockwave tossed Malik away like a leaf in a stiff breeze, but this time Ezio concentrated quickly, arresting Malik's trajectory and lowering him gently onto the ground.

"I will not be so concerned about using the Staff," Rodrigo rose to his feet, dressed in his dark, cowled robes instead of the papal finery, a blade at his waist. "I see that you, at least, are afraid of using the Apple."

"I know how to avoid your tricks without waking it fully." Ezio drew his blade warily.

"How many tricks do you think I have?" Rodrigo smiled thinly. "Can you avoid them all, boy? And have you forgotten? The both of us want to leave. It is only that old man standing beside you who wants us all destroyed."

"I will not believe a Templar's words."

"Then so be it," Rodrigo said heavily, shifting the Staff to his left hand. "I will take the Apple from you, and, with the death of _La Volpe_, open the tomb myself."

"So you _did_ lie," Ezio growled. "You have known all along!"

"More than you know, I should think," Rodrigo sneered. "The death of the Prophet. The cycle of rebirth. The prize in the tomb is immortality and power, Ezio, power beyond what your tiny mind can grasp. And the best of all is that the old man beside you thinks that there are rules! So he will not interfere, while I kill you. This much the Staff has told me."

Ezio glanced sharply at _La Volpe_, who inclined his head with a faint, quick grin. "It is in your hands, Ezio."

"After I save you, _bastardo_," Ezio snapped, "I am going to punch you in the face."

"You would have to beat me to it," Malik said, with a glance over to Altaïr, who was picking himself up from the wall unsteadily, then back, towards Rodrigo. "Shall we?"

"How far would you dare to use the Staff?" Ezio taunted, stepping in front of _La Volpe_ to circle Rodrigo, noting that Malik had moved to do the same, and Altaïr was creeping up in a wider circle, to go behind Rodrigo. "You are afraid of the world breaking, as well!"

"I do not _only_ have the Staff, child." Rodrigo drawled, and drew his blade. It was a different sword from the last: a white blade, so pale that it looked like frost on a glass window. _The Sword_.

_Rodrigo had come to Monteriggioni with the Staff, the Apple and the Sword_. Ezio watched, frozen, as a spark jumped from the Staff to the Sword, and abruptly, there was a small army of Rodrigos, surrounding them. To his right, and far in front of him, he could hear Malik and Altaïr swear loudly as they instinctively began to defend themselves. Malik sidestepped a slash, bringing his weapon up in a vicious arc that disemboweled the shadow before him, then quickly dodging to avoid a cleave from the doppelganger behind him. Ezio could not see Altaïr.

"_La Volpe!_"

The old man had his arms folded behind his back, and he was dodging with uncanny precision, just nonchalantly managing not to be _there_ whenever a blade fell. Still, Ezio began to fight his way towards him, slamming the blade in his left wrist into the throat of a doppelganger, twisting to kick out the feet of another and bury his sword into his back.

He took a deep breath, and used the Sight, catching the bright gleam of gold cutting purposefully through the copies, heading towards the flare of blue.

Desperately, Ezio tried to force his way through, ignoring gashes opening on his thigh, his cheek, concentrating on parrying and dodging what he could. "Malik! Altaïr!"

Somehow, a bright flare of blue – Altaïr – was _there_, a downward slash blocked by the blinding white of the Staff, and Ezio slowed, concentrating on his own defense, ramming his blade into a copy's belly, grabbing the elbow and shoulder of another and shoving hard to push it roughly against another.

"This is _really_ not Assassin work." He heard Malik grumble breathlessly, before him, the flare of blue blocking a copy's blade before it reached Ezio's shoulder. "Go, quickly! Altaïr cannot stall him for long."

True enough, the Sword abruptly flared in the Sight, and Altaïr was blasted back into a handful of copies, twisting and scrambling in the scrum. Rodrigo was nearly there, his sword arm drawing back-

-even as Ezio _finally_ reached _La Volpe_, instinctively pushing him aside.

The agony was white-hot, even as the world around him fell away.

White emptiness, all around him, empty but for-

"Can you stop screaming? It is most annoying." _La Volpe_ said, his arms folded.

Ezio felt down over his chest, where the wound should be, and found nothing, not even pain. "I… what… where are we… so I _failed_? The world has ended?"

"Not exactly," _La Volpe_ said, gesturing around them. "Congratulations. You have opened the tomb."

Ezio stared at him dumbly. "But you are not dead."

"_You_ are," _La Volpe_ said, with morbid cheer. "How does it feel like? I cannot say that I cared for the experience, when it was my turn to take the title from the Nazarene."

"You… I… _what_?"

"_Why_ could it not have been ibn La-Ahad?" _La Volpe_ asked aloud, seemingly to no one in particular. "The words would not have had to be so small."

"You mean that we are _both_ the Prophet?"

"Very good! Or should we say, I was the Prophet, and now you are. You have died before the shadow of the tomb and two of the true Pieces."

"But I would have died before, at the beginning," Ezio said, nonplussed, "If _you_ had not interfered."

"Were you not paying attention to me?" _La Volpe_ said irritably, "The conduit and the _shadow of the tomb_ are two different things. This world is a shadow. Ergo, the tomb within it is a shadow of the conduit, which is the true trigger."

"So you lied!"

"I did not lie, you merely chose to understand what you wanted from my words," _La Volpe_ retorted. "I wonder if I was _this_ annoying when the Nazarene explained matters to me."

"So what happens next?" Ezio said, controlling his temper. "How do I make everything come back? The Apple said that the death of the Prophet will cause his will to be done."

"Are you sure about what you want?" _La Volpe_ asked mildly. "The world you were in for the past few months was parasitic, as I said. It would have adverse effects on the river. And you only have one wish, as it were. Your death, for a catalyst, that is the trade, with the tomb as the scales, the power to change worlds, reality, life and death itself, for one moment in time."

"What did you trade for?"

_La Volpe_ smiled wearily. "That is a story for another time, I think. Whatever you choose now, afterwards, you will be an outsider in Time. If you do something foolish, you will have the rest of Time until your replacement to regret it."

"I know what I want to do." Experimentally, Ezio concentrated, and the Basilica rebuilt itself around them, frozen in time. Gently, Ezio put a hand on Malik's unmoving shoulder, watching him sleet away into the white, and then weaving his way over to Altaïr to do the same. Finally, he sent Rodrigo as well, until the Basilica was empty but for himself and _La Volpe_.

Through the stained glass windows, the shadows lengthened, the Basilica flooding with afternoon light, then darkening to the evening, and then back, flooding again with light and its scudding shadows. _La Volpe_ smirked, amused.

"Not bad, for a pup."

"The instability in the timeline is what makes this reality parasitic, no? Now that is fixed." Ezio said, dismissive. "Everyone is back where and _when_ they should be."

"Removing their memories of you was a strange coda."

"I do not belong in this time," Ezio said, though he could not smile, had to steel himself from the instinctive grief that he felt. There would be time later to mourn what he had, what he might have wasted. "I think I have done enough. What about you?"

"Me? It is finished for me, finally." _La Volpe_ chuckled. "Perhaps I will be reincarnated as a butterfly, which will dream of being human. You have more worries now than the life of an old thief."

"Why, what happens next?"

"You have a few loose ends in the river to take care of," _La Volpe_ gestured vaguely behind him, at the tomb. "After that, if this works as it did the last time, a representative of Those Who Came Before should tell you the name of your successor and the circumstances of your meeting, and then the Piece that you have will leave you, never to bear your touch again. Your role is already over: this errant offshoot world has been fixed. The rest of your life is up to you. But eternity is a long time. I would suggest, like me, finding a purpose, and quickly."

"Thank you," Ezio decided humbly, though he added, with a faint grin, "Though I still feel like punching you, you sly old fox."

"Perhaps in the afterlife," _La Volpe_ smiled, as the world turned back into white.

V

Carefully, slowly, Ezio picked himself up from the floor of the Basilica, and felt gingerly at his jaw. Stubble covered it again, and as he looked down at his sleeves, Altaïr's dark armor sat over his shoulders in place of the missaglias. His wounds were gone.

Straightening, he looked down past the altar, to the corridor where Rodrigo had fled, and smiled thinly to himself, before loping forward, into his future.

-…. And here we are, my fix for the WTF ending of the game, in 18 goddamn chapters. XD;; Surprise?

Epilogue next, and omakes. Chapter 17 is incomplete because it is missing Malik's and Altaïr's points of view, so that needs to be fixed. Also, I think at this point that a small ficlet about Ezio meeting Desmond needs to be written. I just needed to finish the main plot before Mass Effect comes out and everything slows into a crawl. : ) Thanks again for reading.-


	19. Chapter 19

[A/N: The below ideas stuck in my mind during work and needed to be written, and then mass effect takes a long time to install, so enjoy!]

The Sword of Damocles

Chapter 19 – Epilogues and Beginnings

.the river

Leonardo visibly brightened as an assistant let a familiar figure through the door. Cowled in black and red rather than in white, his jaw unshaven and his clothes stained from travel, Ezio seemed weary, though he smiled and pulled back his cowl when Leonardo stepped forward to shake his hand.

"Ezio! So good to see you. Welcome to Milan!"

"Milan suits you, old friend." Ezio glanced around the large workshop, a hive of activity with various assistants and students. Above, suspended cunningly from the ceiling, was another, more elaborate copy of the flying machine; here an unfinished canvas, there a pile of notebooks and sketches.

"And you, how was Roma?"

Ezio glanced pointedly at the people around them. "Is there someplace else we can speak?"

"Ah… of course. Here." Leonardo led Ezio up the stairway, to his private chambers. As the door closed, Ezio walked around it in a circle, eyeing everything with an air of deep curiosity; the bed, with its sprawl of scrolls and quill by the dresser, books haphazardly arranged in the shelves, a large diagram of the imagined universe drawn hastily on the floor one night when he had no materials at hand; maps tacked up onto the walls, an a device that he hoped to make out of brass and glass, in several different pieces on the floor.

"At least you never change." Ezio was inspecting the diagram. "The Ducal Court has kept you busy?"

"There are a lot of commissions," Leonardo said, a little guiltily. "But also a lot of projects. I am thinking of mechanical animals. If a mechanical horse can be made, that would be a great saving for messengers. Of course, clockwork is not so reliable, but perhaps there can be another better source of energy. I am thinking perhaps the wind, or the water. Natural forces."

Ezio laughed, indulgent, and then his expression became abruptly serious. "What did you hear about Roma?"

Leonardo hesitated, uncertain. To tell the truth, he had heard rumors at Court, but had not paid them much heed. He had long accepted that he could do little in Ezio's life but patch him up or help him in small ways, and hearing about his exploits, however indirectly, was sometimes painful.

There was much in Ezio's life: in particular, the violence and death – that he had to try his best to overlook. "Only a little. Rumors. Rodrigo is still alive."

"_Si_. At the end, it felt like there was no point in killing him. A man like he would die, sooner or later, whether I bloody my hands or not." Ezio had walked over to the window, looking out over Milan, his hands clasped behind his back. "In the larger picture, one man's life felt so insignificant."

"You have had some sort of revelation," Leonardo ventured, the logic of his mind instantly positing twenty-three different possibilities, and two likely probabilities. "Did you find religion?"

"Hah!" Partially hidden by the cowl, Ezio's tight smile seemed self-mocking. "Not particularly."

"Then, you are a father?"

"Where _did_ you get that idea…! No, I do not want to know, Leonardo, there is no need to explain," Ezio said dryly, though the smile softened enough that Leonardo felt a little spark of scientific revelation.

"Then you are in love! Congratulations, _amico mio_. Do I know the lucky lady?"

Ezio had started, with a flinch, at Leonardo's conclusion, though the sudden flush and his stutter betrayed him. Leonardo felt scientific revelation solidify into triumph. "I… I, well, not exactly."

"There is such a social permutation as 'not exactly'?" Leonardo asked, puzzled, his powerful mind sifting through his albeit narrow social book of shared mutual acquaintances of the feminine nature. "A _courtesan_?"

"I refuse to be interrogated," Ezio glared, retreating into indignation. "And _no_."

"I felt it was my prerogative as your friend to congratulate you preemptively," Leonardo said cheerfully, looking around his room for a presentable pair of wineglasses and any sort of wine that had not yet been press-ganged into experiments. "This is good news. I think you _should_ settle down. Now that you have had a resolution to the monstrous shadow that has eaten half of your life, perhaps you can actually start to _live_."

"I _have_ been living," Ezio growled, looking irritable.

"You have been _surviving_, friend Ezio, and that only," Leonardo corrected, finally locating and wiping off a wineglass behind a pile of books, and then another, which had been upside-down on a shelf over a fading flower. Wine from a patron he located on a desk, which had been serving a menial purpose as a makeshift paper press. Struggling with the cork, he added, "Believe me, I know the difference."

"Here." Ezio took the bottle from Leonardo, uncorking it expertly and decanting a little into a glass. He rolled the fluid under his nose, sniffing, then he smiled in approval and poured for them both. "It is impossible, in any case."

"What is impossible?"

"The, ah, the relationship."

"Oh?" Leonardo hesitated. "_Married_?"

"No!"

"A princess?"

"_Leonardo_."

"Do not tell me, really, you went after _La Tigre_, the Lady Sforza-"

"No, and no," Ezio said, with a deep, sigh. Leonardo carefully internalized his smirk. He had loved, he _did _still love, with close companions always by his side, but he had long left the predictable intricacies of bedroom tangles and petty jealousies behind him, subsumed by the rest of the world and its wonders. However, here, his friend was lovesick, and vicariously, Leonardo felt moved, if at the same time, greatly amused.

"Do you know about the Orient and their theories about karma?"

"I can guess," Ezio scowled. "If you are going to make fun of me I am going to leave."

"No, no," Leonardo grasped his friend's arm quickly, patting it reassuringly. "I would not dream of it. Have some wine. And then you can tell me about it. Perhaps I can help."

Mollified, Ezio drank, his eyes oddly distant. "I doubt you can. Besides, it, ah, was some time ago, and I do not think the person remembers me."

"Nobody can forget you, Ezio," Leonardo said dryly. "If only because you insist on wearing such a remarkable array of lethal weaponry."

"It helps to be prepared," Ezio quipped, a little more like his usual self. "No, I am certain, in this case. What about you, Leonardo? Do you have anyone? You are older than I."

"My love is my work and the world around us in its entirety," Leonardo swept an arm out towards the window in an encompassing gesture. "Oh, there were a few m… a few people in my youth. A handsome if wayward assistant who had to be fired… a Lombard aristocrat who continues to be a good friend – at least on my end… at times I feel he may be a little besotted, but he _is_ a stimulating conversant. But in truth I am never so much in love as I am when I am in the midst of discovery."

"I think the person I speak of is very much like that," Ezio said guardedly. Leonardo felt a little hurt, for a moment. Ezio had _said_ that Leonardo was his closest friend, and still he refused to entrust him with such a secret. "But in any case, it would be wrong to intrude and interfere in the person's life.'

"What can be wrong about love? Let her know what you feel. Or if you cannot do that, then, just be there when she needs you," Leonardo said, more soberly. Perhaps he was being unsympathetic. The dilemma was clearly paining his friend. As soothingly as he could, he added, "I wish you good luck."

Leonardo raised his wine glass, and slowly, Ezio mimicked his gesture. "Thank you for listening to me, Leonardo."

"Anytime, _amico mio_. Even if I am a little hurt that you will not even tell me her name."

"Perhaps another time." Ezio drained his glass. "I will be away for a while."

"After the girl?" Leonardo grinned, the grin widening into a smirk when Ezio blushed.

"No! Travelling. After Rodrigo, I think I need a little time off. I want to see the world for a while. I need some space to think."

"_Bene, va bene_. That is a good idea, Ezio. Travel widens your horizons. Perhaps you may even find the answer you seek, to your problem," Leonardo suggested, instantly curious. It was not like Ezio to announce his schedule. "You are traveling far? Beyond Europe, perhaps?"

"You could say so."

"To the Orient?" Leonardo asked hopefully. "I need some things from the Orient."

"I will see what I can do," Ezio said, amused.

"_Eccezionale_! Stay there. I need to make a list."

Ezio poured himself another glass as Leonardo rummaged frantically through his papers for blank parchment, quill and ink, the assassin's smile enigmatic, his gaze focused – and yet unfocused at the same time, as if he was looking at Leonardo, and yet was not. Intrigued and inspired, Leonardo stared, unabashed, until Ezio arched an eyebrow at him, his expression of perfect mystery broken.

"Leonardo?"

"I need canvas." Leonardo scrambled.

"What? _Now_?"

"Stay there! And smile like that again!"

"Like what? _Leonardo_-"

.the other

Reconstruction was slow, but the survivors of Monteriggioni set upon it with enthusiasm and with vengeance. The bodies were buried, the streets washed clean, and scaffolding scaled ruined housing and shattered watchtowers. The atmosphere was festive; bunting twisted its way along intact windows, and children laughed and chased brightly colored balls on the street.

Leonardo was thankful that his workshop had been one of the buildings that had survived intact and undefiled. It had only taken the space of an afternoon to clear out the cobwebs and the dust, arrange his notebooks onto the shelves, and pin blank parchment onto the desk. He still needed to work on the town's defenses, given that the Templar presence still had an iron grip upon Italia, but in the cool silence of the workshop, Leonardo felt a comfortable, unfamiliar sensation of lassitude.

He was binding his sketches into a book with needle and thread when the stranger strolled into the workshop, easy as you please. At Leonardo's startled intake of breath, the man flinched, and then he had the grace to look abashed.

"_Mi dispiace_. I must have taken a wrong turn."

"Oh no, it is no trouble." Leonardo said, with a quick smile. "I have not seen you here before. Are you a guest of the Auditore?"

The stranger blinked, and then he seemed amused. "You could say so." He wore a sleek, dark cowl over a doublet, a tapering vest and a rich maroon cape, high boots, filigreed bracers and gloves, a slender blade at his hip and a buckle fashioned in the symbol of the Creed across his waist. The cowl hid his eyes, and his short beard was growing unkempt.

"That is an odd answer, sir," Leonardo said warily. "Even if you appear to be an Assassin."

"I meant," the stranger held up his palms, "That I was on the way to the villa to introduce myself, and, as I said, I must have taken a wrong turn."

"No assassin are you if you cannot scale the walls, and across the rooftops it would be a clear path to the villa," Leonardo pointed out.

"I am caught," The stranger grinned, unabashed. "Truthfully speaking, a long time ago I saw some of your works, in Firenze, and then in the Court of the Medici. I am a longtime admirer and was rather hoping you would be elsewhere."

"A burglar, then," Leonardo said, though he felt somewhat gratified. It had been a while since anyone had referred to his art, a profession long forgotten.

"_Mi disipiace_ again, _Messer_ Leonardo. I will leave."

"No, no." Leonardo said quickly, with a warm smile. "You must not have been in Italia for a while, friend. Leonardo the painter is no more."

"Leonardo the artist is still much in possession," The stranger glanced at the sketches that he was binding, and Leonardo smiled, a little embarrassed.

"These? These are nothing. I draw one once a day. It is a little compulsive, perhaps."

To his surprise, the stranger's expression seemed to freeze, as though in grief, and then when he smiled, it was small and tight. "I see. That is a good hobby."

"Here," Impulsively, Leonardo broke the string, tied off the knot, and handed the book of sketches to the stranger. "Since you like my work. Keep it."

"I cannot possibly accept this."

"I have a lot of sketches," Leonardo said, as blithely as he could. He felt an ache in his throat at the very thought of parting with the book, but then, he could always draw more, and the visible pleasure on the stranger's face more than made up for it.

"_Grazie_. You are very generous, _Messer_ Leonardo."

"Just Leonardo, _per favore_. And you have me at an advantage."

The stranger regarded him silently for a moment from under his cowl, and then he raised his chin briefly. Under the shadow of his cowl, his eyes were a startling shade of violet that Leonardo had seen once before.

"_La Volpe_?"

"No, and I am of no blood relation to that old fox, before you ask. I am a replacement."

"Another immortal," Leonardo surmised, intrigued. "Does immortality turn your eyes such a color, or were you born with it?"

"The color is a little trick, one of many," The stranger passed a hand over his eyes, and they were green; back again, and they returned to violet. "A necessary trick."

"You still have me at an advantage, stranger." Teasingly, Leonardo added, "The previous one was _La Volpe_. Perhaps you are _il Lupo?_ Or _L'Aquila_?"

"_L'Aquila_ is as good a name as any." The stranger decided, tucking the book into a pouch at his waist. "_Grazie_ again for your kind gift, Leonardo. I will treasure it always."

"It is a trifle," Leonardo blushed, embarrassed by the solemn, earnest words, already warming towards the stranger. "Come, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the Auditore."

.the future

"Good _fucking_ God!" Shaun snarled, throwing up his hands when Desmond peered over his shoulder at his laptop screen. "If it is _not_ enough that you _bitch_ every breath you get on the road, you have to push your _great_ bloody _mug_ into my face whenever I try to work?"

"Hey man, peace out," Desmond raised his palms, backing off. "No need to bite my head off. I just wanted to see what you were doing."

"Well, you _did_," Shaun growled, shooting him one last glare before peering back at the endless scrolling text on his screen. "Now if you had any sense of decency you would fuck off and die quietly in a corner."

"Okay, okay." Desmond retreated out of the room to lick his figurative wounds. Another week on the road was playing hell with the computer tech's nerves. The cabin had been compromised when they had reached it (well, Lucy called it 'compromised', and Desmond called it 'burned to a goddamn crisp', but hey, semantics), and now they were headed deeper into the mountains, up a logging _path_, for hell's sake.

Apparently there was another, lesser-known outpost up there that they could use to continue to destroy what was left of Desmond's brain, for great justice. And now they were in what looked like the rest stop from hell, really a set of bug-ridden motel rooms above a smoky, sticky pit of a place that served watered-down beer to surly, hairy men in sweat-stained shirts and tattered jeans.

Trucks and battered jeeps lined the dustbowl of an excuse for a carpark, and the girls had retired early to their room, leaving Desmond to face Shaun's temper alone. Damned women.

Impulsively, Desmond looked around quickly. Alone. Good. He set a foot on the rail of the balcony, then leaped up and _back_, something that he had seen Ezio pull before, in the Animus.

It didn't go too well – the corrugated roof was slippery with slime from ill maintenance, and Desmond lost his footing with a yelp, flailing.

Someone caught him firmly by the shoulders and hauled him up to his feet. Dazed, Desmond looked up into the grizzled face of his rescuer, which was mostly hidden by a dark hood. The stranger wore a black jacket that tapered at the knees nearly to his hips, a deep red, collared shirt beneath that, tucked into black tailored pants and polished Italian dress shoes.

"Whoah!"

Faintly, from the window beneath them, Desmond heard Shaun snap acidly, "If you want to break your neck, Miles, try to do so _quietly_, please."

The stranger chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking, then he motioned for Desmond to follow. Hesitantly, Desmond did so, trying his best to keep his footing on the sloped metal, until they were on the concrete, flat roof of an adjoining warehouse, the stranger perching gracefully on a crate.

"Just so you know, your getup is bloody awful," Desmond said, instinctively switching to his second sight, and then back. Blue. That was good. Probably.

The stranger bared his teeth in a grin, but his shoulders shook again, amused. "You are not any more stylish yourself." His English was thickly accented. An Italian accent, Desmond surmised, thanks in no small part to the all-body acid trip that was also known as Fun Times with the Animus (and its derivatives). This close, he could see a faint scar on the man's lip, and others, thinner and faint, one over his cheek, another leading down, cutting a swathe through his three o' clock shadow and disappearing into his collar.

"So, you're an Assassin, huh. Friend of Lucy's? Or are you stalking us for kicks? Let me guess, given my luck, you're either here to tell me the outpost we're going to has also been burned down, or that the Templars are just up the road, or that the Animus has run out of spare batteries."

"The outpost is fine." The stranger said, grinning, lopsided, "And although I have met _signorina_ Stillman, I actually traveled here to meet you, Desmond."

"Me? Wow, thanks. I mean, if you stick around, you might actually get to see me start crawling up the wall to escape the invisible horses." Desmond sat down on the crate beside the Assassin. "Or maybe everything will turn into the Basilica, since I've been railroaded over the same memory for pretty much the last two weeks."

"The Basilica?"

"The Assassin powder vine must be screwed. I mean, I thought it was big news, given the fuss that the rest were making. Rebecca thinks it's a glitch, but Shaun doesn't, and they've been dicking over it since."

"Explain, please."

"You evidently haven't been in the Assassin business long."

"Really." The stranger grinned. "What makes you think so?"

"You still have a sense of human decency. I don't think I've heard the word 'please' since I got press-ganged into The Sims, Abstergo Edition. Anyway. You know about the Animus?"

"I know you use a machine to look into the past."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. So there's this point where Ezio fights Rodrigo, and then Rodrigo gets the better of him. Vicariously, I can tell you, a dagger in your gut hurts like _fuck_ all even if you keep telling yourself you're just along for the ride. So Ezio is bleeding out on the ground, and then suddenly he's magically healed, and he goes to beat on Rodrigo a little more. And then he _doesn't_ try to kill him. Total change of heart. And then the rest of the world pretty much goes to shite."

"What do you think?"

"I think something's missing in between him kissing dirt on the Basilica's floor and getting up A-OK, obviously. But we can't figure it out. Maybe Subject Sixteen dicked around with the memory blocks more than we thought."

"Interesting." The Assassin said absently, then he hopped off the crate, straightening up. "Your friends are coming for you."

Desmond craned his neck, but he saw and heard nothing – and then Lucy and Rebecca came around the corner of the motel, on the walkway, peering around them.

"Up here," Desmond called, and they looked up sharply. Rebecca gasped, taking a step back, but Lucy merely blinked rapidly and waved. "Oh. Are you an Assassin celebrity or something?"

"Hah." The Assassin held out a hand, and Desmond grasped it firmly, then he flinched as his wrist was turned up, instead, lips brushing over the underside before he could jerk his hand away. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Desmond. You may call me _L'Aquila_."

"What… what… you…"

"Try to survive the rest of your revelations," _L'Aquila_ walked to the edge of the warehouse. "When you are ready, I will find you again."

"Wait!" Desmond lunged forward, but _L'Aquila_ stepped off the roof. When he looked down, and then to his left and right, the man had vanished. Grimacing, Desmond rubbed the back of his wrist on his jeans. Sometimes he _really_ hated his life.

High above, an eagle spun in a slow, lazy circle, before banking to ride the updraft towards the horizon.

-fin! +omake to come, hopefully.

That timesonline article inspired the first scene, haha. Ezio has the Mona Lisa smile.

Also… for those people who read Chapter 18 and didn't get it, please finish the game first. XD;; I write all my fics on the understanding that my readers have completed the game. If you haven't finished the game you've just spoilered yourself on the ending! : /

Basically, Chapters 1-18 are meant to take place in the eyeblink of time between Ezio getting pwnt by Rodrigo in the Basilica in Roma, and him getting up again, mysteriously unharmed, attitude abruptly different (he doesn't kill Rodrigo), and to explain the weirdness of Minerva informing Ezio that his role was over. And yes, Desmond is the successor. Hope that cleared things up!-


	20. omake

[A/N: My compulsiveness regarding writing the story in only one POV gave it a lot of loose ends… sorry. Here's a wrap up from Altaïr's and Malik's POVs, starting from before the story to the last.]

Omake

Requiem

I

"_Maestro _Altaïr ibn La-Ahad? _And_ _Maestro _Malik Al-Sayf! A pleasant surprise."

The slender, tall Assassin slipped down from his perch atop a set of crates at the dock of Venezia and approached them, his smile wide under his cowl. Malik hid his own grin as he sensed Altaïr's instant disapproval – with how the Assassin had _certainly_ not been hiding in plain sight, since his fine clothes made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the dockworkers: and how the Assassin had just said their names out aloud for the world to hear.

"_Assalam aleikom_," The Assassin continued, in nearly perfect Arabic, bowing, once he was closer. Thankfully, he did not try to shake Altaïr's hand. "My father is waiting for us. I am Ezio Auditore."

"The second son," Altaïr recalled out aloud, as his lip twitched. "I pray that your father's business is urgent indeed, to call the both of us out of Masyaf."

"Ah… well, to be honest, we were only expecting _one _of you to come, but the business we have is indeed urgent. We have-"

"_Peace_," Altaïr growled. "Must you speak your mind constantly for all to know?"

"It has been a long and tiring journey," Malik cut in amiably, with a pointed glance at Altaïr that he ignored. "Please forgive Altaïr's temper, Ezio Auditore."

"Oh no, _Maestro_ Al-Sayf, it was a good question and a good point," Ezio said cheerfully, as he led them through the dock. "Here in Venezia, Firenze and in Monteriggioni, we have a different system from Masyaf. See this," He picked at his cape, upon which was a familiar symbol, from the seal on the formal missives. "This is the Auditore crest. It is a promise to protect. It is an expression of trust."

"A poor system. A city of this size easily hides spies." Altaïr disagreed. "And the Creed states that we must-"

"Hide in plain sight, I know," Ezio said, as the crowd thinned. "But in this war we have is fought openly, with territories. It is a little complicated, our arrangement, compared to Masyaf's, as we share power also with the Dukes and Lords, but if we must rule, then we can do no less than to bear our name openly and with pride, if we must earn the trust of those we protect. And besides," Ezio added blandly, "It is not as though nobody knows where Masyaf is."

Altaïr scowled, but Malik chuckled, always happy to debate a philosophical point. "Such importance you place on trust."

"Aye. With people, the unknown easily breeds fear. This arrangement has worked to our favor, to date. You cannot defend a city so large, surrounded by water, without the support of its inhabitants, and besides, here we fight_ not_ to destroy the Templar, but to protect those who have entrusted their lives to us."

Malik smiled faintly at the note of challenge in Ezio's tone. Under his seemingly sunny nature was the famous steel of the Auditore, the Assassin family that had ruled Italia by default for several generations.

Altaïr frowned. "It is the same thing."

"No, _Maestro_, it is not. It has different priorities. Different sacrifices." Ezio turned to look at Altaïr directly, raising his head so that his face was visible under his cowl: a startlingly handsome young man, likely no more than twenty-five years of age or less, idealistic and unafraid. "Your choice in Bethlehem, that is not one that I would have taken."

"I am not here to defend myself to you, boy," Altaïr retorted, though, attuned to his partner and lover as Malik was, he could sense the disapproval waning in the wake of curiosity, and not a little amusement. As they crossed into an alley, Altaïr added, "So what would you have done differently in Bethlehem, Ezio?"

"Held his tongue, I hope." The dry voice above them made Malik and Altaïr look up sharply, their hands instinctively seeking the hilts of their weapons. Perched on a narrow strut was another man in assassin whites, who landed neatly and quietly beside Ezio.

"Federico," Ezio turned to clap his brother on the shoulder, smirking. "Why, what brings you here?"

"Do not try innocence with me, little brother," Federico Auditore cuffed Ezio over his ear. "My apologies, _Maestri_. I was meant to meet you at the docks. I am afraid that Ezio caused a deliberate misunderstanding regarding the time and place of your arrival so that he could speak with _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad privately. My apologies again if he has caused you any offence."

"_Federico_," Ezio growled, glaring at his brother.

"Be quiet, little brother," Federico sighed. "These men are our honored guests. They are not here to be interrogated by young pups."

"On the contrary," Altaïr said dryly, "It has been a pleasure speaking with Ezio. Perhaps we could continue our discussion after our business with your father is concluded."

"Really?" Ezio brightened, and then he seemed to consciously remind himself to be austere. "I mean, thank you, _Maestro_. I will look forward to it."

"The _Maestri_ are too kind to say so," Federico said mildly, offering his brother a letter. "Ezio, this needs to be delivered. Now, _per favore_."

"But-"

"Stop arguing, little brother. I think you have caused enough trouble – even for you – for one day."

"Fine." Ezio snatched the letter from his brother, pouting. "I will see you later, then." He glanced at the address. "To Leonardo? Why Leonardo? From Lord Lorenzo, at that."

"The letter is to be delivered _sealed_," Federico said pointedly. "But no doubt you can persuade Leonardo to open it in your presence, _si_? After all, you seem adept at persuading him to do any manner of things."

Ezio, Malik noted with amusement, actually _blushed_. "Ah, I will deliver the letter."

"_Subito_, little brother. Now, _Maestri_, this way, _per favore_."

1.0

Malik excused himself early from the debate, pleading weariness, though, as used to Malik as he was, Altaïr could see the indulgence for what it meant. Making a mental note to show his appreciation afterwards, Altaïr turned his mind back to the argument at hand. Passionate, still a little naïve, with a heart that cared for the world and all of its problems, Ezio Auditore was the biggest curiosity in Venezia that Altaïr had encountered to date.

At the end, pleasantly lulled by intellectual stimulation and a couple of glasses of wine, Altaïr found himself promising Ezio that if he ever cared to visit Masyaf, whether for business, pleasure or sanctuary, he would be more than welcome. At Ezio's too-quick, warm smile in response, Altaïr wondered if _that_ had been the boy's intent all along.

II

"Surely politics was not why the both of you summoned us to Venezia," Malik observed. They were in Monteriggioni now, after meeting the Duke of Milan in Venezia and Lord Lorenzo de' Medici in Firenze, and the Auditore _Maestri_ were showing them around the stately villa that was their family home. At present they were behind a bookcase, descending down a wide stairway. A tomb, perhaps.

Giovanni and Mario Auditore exchanged glances, and then Giovanni chuckled as they reached a circular, empty room, bare save for a white skull set into the wall. As they watched, Mario walked forward, inserting his fingers into the sockets and pulling outwards. The skull reassembled with an oiled _click_, turning itself upside down, and a door rumbled backwards and to the right. It had been cut seamlessly into the wall.

Through another narrow corridor, and they were in another, smaller, circular room, at its center a stone altar. Upon it was a brooch in the shape of a silver shield, resting in an unmarked, wooden box. As they neared, it began to hum, in an alien, insectile whisper.

"The Shield," Altaïr breathed, astonished. "When did you acquire the Shield?"

"We have always had the Shield," Giovanni said quietly. "It was part of Marco Polo's gifts to the first ancestor of the Auditore, along with funds, to assist him in founding a foothold for the Creed in Italia."

"And you did not think to notify the other _Maestri_ of this?" Malik asked, as politely as he could, keeping a firm hold on his temper. "We could have used the knowledge."

"The Shield is dangerous. All the Pieces are dangerous." Mario said flatly. "We do not encourage its knowledge because its use will be deadly to the user. We have personal experience. Our father died insane."

"Besides that, the Shield has protected Monteriggioni against siege since it was constructed. And so, now, we entrust it to Masyaf." Giovanni closed the box, and offered it to Altaïr.

Altaïr put his hands quickly behind his back. "Why?"

"That matter with Rashid ad-Din Sinan… Al Mualim… is yet fresh. You face a _Maestro_ convinced that Masyaf has been sorely weakened. War will strike quickly, once his forces are mustered. We cannot afford to lose Masyaf."

"Neither can we afford to lose Monteriggioni."

"No one has known about the Shield save the Auditore, and then, only when they become _Maestri_ and inherit leadership of the family." Mario shrugged. "Giovanni and I are in agreement. Even without the Shield, Monteriggioni is impregnable. But Masyaf is the symbol of the Creed: it has been so for centuries, as its birthplace, as its cornerstone and bulwark. To lose it would strike the Assassins a fatal blow. So the Shield is yours. But again, I would warn you against looking into it."

"Then, you do us great honor, _Maestri_." Malik said, overwhelmed by the enormity of their gesture. Grudgingly, Altaïr accepted the small box, secreting it into his robes and bowing deeply.

"To use it, you need simply touch it once, and will it to _protect_," Giovanni continued. "Our ancestor advised that it would only protect a certain space. Like a small fort. It should be sufficient for Masyaf."

"If the war worsens here, we will return it," Altaïr promised.

"No," Giovanni shook his head. "Masyaf is more important. And besides, we have strong allies, strong territories. The situation in Italia is more stable than Syria."

"God willing, I hope you do not regret your gesture." Malik said soberly. "But the offer is there nevertheless. Should you ever ask for the return of the Shield, I – or Altaïr – will return."

"There is another matter," Mario added. "Once you are back safe in Masyaf, spread word that the Shield had come into your possession in your travels. This is a war of symbols, and Masyaf must seem unassailable. Do not reveal to anyone how the Shield truly came into your possession. Not even to my nephews, or my niece."

"We will do as you say," Altaïr said doubtfully, "But I am still not sure why you have kept it a secret. Even if it as dangerous as you say."

"One of the recurring traits of the Auditore, _Maestro_, is an unrelenting curiosity," Giovanni smiled gently. "As well as stubbornness, and a ruthless determination that subsumes authority where the cause is deemed just. They are good traits for an Assassin. But at the same time, should I say, if I were to let it be known that the Shield was here, Federico, Ezio, at their tender ages, would likely have stolen it and tried to use it. That is why its existence is only revealed to our successors when we deem them mature and experienced enough to handle the knowledge. And even then – as the death of our father would attest – sometimes even that is not enough."

"You have good sons," Altaïr disagreed. "They would not do so."

"Would they not? Run with it across the world, perhaps, to save an Assassin town from annihilation?" Giovanni's smile was knowing. "Brashly risk their lives and their minds for what they think is a just cause? They are young and convinced of their invulnerability. It is our way. But you of Masyaf are taken early from your mothers and know only discipline and obedience to your creed, to your _Maestri_. None of your own would dare steal or use it. The Shield would suit Masyaf better."

"I understand," Altaïr said finally. "And thank you again. We are in your debt."

"War changes as quickly as the storm," Mario said quietly. "Soon we will have no time to look to anything else but our own. Therefore, we will not accept that any debt has accrued. Guard the Shield well. Hold Masyaf against the Templar. That is all that we ask."

2.0

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

[_Assalam aleikom_]! I knew you would eventually discern how to read this. Leonardo was not entirely sure why I wanted a method of encryption that was not entirely unbreakable, but if it is unbreakable for Leonardo then it is unbreakable for everyone.

Mario will not permit contacting you outside of the formal missives as he is concerned that I will give offence, but the formal missives are corrected and approved by my father and uncle both, so nothing interesting can really be contained within them.

I know you went to Monteriggioni with them both while my brothers and I were sent on 'urgent' errands to Firenze and Venezia. Perhaps it is not my business to know why, but I must yet ask. My father and uncle may see Monteriggioni as ultimately unimportant in their war of symbols, but to me, my brothers, my sister, it is our home and our bastion. If you can assure me that what transpired was harmless I will believe you.

That aside, please find enclosed a book by a friend of mine. I think you will find it interesting. 'The Prince' is his best work, but as yet it is not published. This one is a copy of the latest draft. My friend would like your opinion. His family and mine do not usually agree, because he has a blood feud with the Medici, but he is good to argue with. Naturally, as you would surmise once you read the book, I do not share his philosophies about governance.

If you have time to offer us a return opinion it would be appreciated. And, of course, if you can say anything to put my mind to rest about Monteriggioni.

Safety and Peace,

-Ezio

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

I suppose I should have expected you to completely ignore my first question. Perhaps I should ask _Maestro_ Al-Sayf instead? He is ultimately far nicer than you are. The God that threw the two of you together must have had a curious sense of humor…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

Formalities are necessary even in encryption. You are the hero of Masyaf and it feels entirely inappropriate addressing you by first name, even in written response. Therefore, unfortunately, it will have to be something you must bear. I am sure that it will cause you _great_ distress.

Ill tidings have come: perhaps we should have anticipated it, with the Borgia family's rise in political power. Rodrigo is now the Pope. Mario senses a storm on the horizon. Still, no doubt you have your own problems in Masyaf: I hear that you are in the midst of contesting Acre. I wish you good hunting…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

We are losing Venezia. This sounds incredible to me even as I pen it, but we are losing. Antonio and his thieves suffer ever greater losses each day, and, as you have read in the formal missive, we have lost _Maestro_ Bernardo Machiavelli. Niccolò is filled with a cold hatred that is ugly to observe, that is the special madness of vengeance; no matter what I say to him it will not falter. Revenge should not drive an Assassin, only justice and the Creed, and yet I cannot judge him. Had I too lost my father it is entirely possible that I would have become like him.

But enough of ill news, there is enough of _that_ by far in the formal missive. The last time we spoke we discussed the necessity of an operational judiciary, independent from Church and State. Or, perhaps, you said it was impossible in Syria, the intractable system that we have in Venezia. I say that it is impossible only because it is different. Religion is subjective and should have no place in law…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

Venezia is lost, Sister Teodora and _Maestro _Bartolomeo are dead. I have only barely persuaded Leonardo to leave with me in time. He is convinced that the Templars would ignore him. I am afraid that his eyes do not entirely see this world, even with his long association with my family. He will be safe in Firenze until I can persuade him further to move to Monteriggioni. Lorenzo, my father, my uncle, will be on his back the entire stay to make weapons for them, but I will not allow him to. As you have said, that one is better off using God's gift to make beautiful things.

Have you resolved your quarrel with _Maestro_ Al-Sayf? Your prior letter seemed fairly discontent. My dear _Maestro_, if you did not insist on having your way all the time you would be far happier. Any relationship depends entirely on equivalent trade. Just because Al-Sayf is more forgiving than most does not mean that you should ignore his opinion.

And _Maestro_ Al-Sayf, if you have by now managed to crack Leonardo's encryption, see, I did say I liked you better than he…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

Thank you for your counsel. I am not sure how you could have guessed right from the very first time I met you, but yes, Leonardo and I are… involved, if not in the way you and _Maestro_ Al-Sayf are. Oh, I am sure that he would be more than interested, but Leonardo has a complicated soul under his good nature and usually, he hides all the hurt he can endure until it bursts, if you do not notice, and I am poor at noticing. He deserves a better man – or person – than someone with an incorrigible weakness for beautiful women.

Leonardo, if you are reading this – and I know that you can just from a glance, since you normally read things _backwards _– I cannot change, and I will not let you accept that from me.

Firenze is under siege. Perhaps it is only a matter of time. Something has changed with Rodrigo. Yes, he has already taken Venezia, but I saw him the day before, on reconnaissance. He is different. He seems… older, surer. And the Staff that he has, it burns in the Sight, like a beacon.

The formal missive would have told you that I had been there observing Rodrigo speaking with Al Mualim. It would have told you that I saw Rodrigo give the Apple to Al Mualim, one that burned in the Sight, so much so that Al Mualim's was a pale shadow in comparison, and for one moment, before they merged, there were two Apples. My uncle forbade me from including my opinion on the matter, but here it is: I think that both versions were true, but the first was truer. Another place, perhaps, or another time…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

We have lost the eastern District of Firenze, and Leonardo has been persuaded to work as a weapons engineer. I disapprove, but I am the _only _one to disapprove, and his mind is set. Now the Templar will target him as well, as much as the rest of us. He has no conception of his own safety.

If you have any words at all that can change his mind, please…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

Lorenzo is slain. The Medici are no more, Paola has disappeared, and even Antonio has taken Rosa and the rest away in the night. Strange. The Medici have been a part of my life since I was a child, and yet, I feel beyond grief. War is the great devourer, it consumes even emotion, after a time. We will retreat from Firenze soon. Perhaps we can even find a place to bury Lorenzo's body where the Templars cannot find it…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

Forlì is lost and the Sforza line with it, and as you have said by your last missive, you have lost Acre, and now even Jerusalem is bitterly contested. I have my own theories how this could have escalated so quickly, so disastrously. Remember previously, the Apple and the Staff? It may have been the first time that I have looked at any of the Pieces, but I know what I saw.

You have Al Mualim to contend with, and he has the Apple. I know you have driven him off before, even when he wielded it, but now it is not the same. If you could but find a way to get a look at it as I had, you would understand. Safely, of course, if that is possible.

In better news, however, as per _Maestro_ Al-Sayf's advice, I am trying… with Leonardo. His trust is both humbling and frightening. I wish he would argue with me, like you do with the _Maestro_, but yet even you take your partner for granted. Still, I will try to do some justice to his affections. I want to be better…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

Leonardo's fortifications have been added to the walls, and we have turned back the first wave of the siege with ease. Perhaps the Templar will break their backs on our little fortress. I do not like what Leonardo does: I can see that it is changing him. He is more focused. His harmless obsession with the world has been changed to a single knife's point, and he is not suited to making weapons. The words you suggested did not work. He does this because he loves me, he does not listen when I say it is not wanted…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

The siege grows long. I hear that you have lost Jerusalem. Still we have held, here. Rodrigo has tried using the Staff but even with that monstrous thing it has not been sufficient. The will of the defenders is strong, and we can see that the Staff has an application too limited to do much damage to the walls.

I have managed to persuade Leonardo to draw again. He says he has no time, so it is not as often as I like. Still, here is one of his pieces, a sketch of my brothers, my sister and I. The one with the pet hawk on his shoulder is Federico, the shorter one is Petruccio, you remember, our brilliant tactician? And of course, the beautiful Claudia, my sister. She has been trying to persuade Federico and I to teach her how to fight. We tell her that the moment that becomes necessary, we will probably both be dead.

You should see the reaction of the _great_ and _wise_ eldest son of the Auditore when she bursts into tears. He has absolutely no idea what to do. Very amusing. Petruccio is the best of us all: unlike the rest of us brothers, he always knows the right thing to say.

We probably look older than what you remember. Wiser, too, hopefully…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

I hope you will understand that I will not ask this of you lightly. We may soon need to leave Monteriggioni. Rumors have come that the Templars have found the Sword. If they have, perhaps our walls will not hold further. The closest safe bastion of the Assassins is Masyaf. We will need to bring those of Monteriggioni who will come.

Father has considered the _kartal_, who are closer, but they have no concerns outside of their territories and have refused us. I know that you are stretched at Masyaf, that you have likely as of your receipt of this letter already lost your hold on Damascus, but please…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

I was disappointed to read your response. I _know_ that you have limited resources, but I had hoped that _something_ in all our letters would have changed your view of war. People wage war over people, _for _people, and when there are no people left then it devours itself. Victory is had by the side that has saved the most lives…

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

It has been months since your last letter. Have you resorted to ignoring us? The Sword is coming from the Dark Continent, the Apple from Jerusalem, and we have heard disturbing news of their efficacy in application against seemingly impenetrable walls when combined with the Staff. We must begin plans to evacuate. But we must also have a place to go. Mario remains unconvinced of the difference that the Sword can make, but instinct tells me otherwise…

--

[Postscript]

This is Leonardo. Ezio is not very good at encryption, but I trust that you can read this message eventually. If you will let us take refuge in Masyaf I promise you, I will do whatever I can for you in return. Enclosed is a sheaf of my latest work. Perhaps it will persuade you.

And of course, in case it crosses your mind, my love does not approve, and is trying to snatch the sheaf away from me at this very moment.

--

_Maestro_ Altaïr ibn La-Ahad,

We leave tomorrow. The Templars that come to Monteriggioni will find it a nest of traps, the birds long flown: we have our ways out of Monteriggioni, away from the siege. Our gratitude for your 'offer' has been lengthily spelled in the formal missive, so I will save my ink.

I may not know what Leonardo promised you but I can guess. We will have words, you and I, once I see you at Masyaf. Do not think that the words will be kind.

III

"Altaïr," Malik said, finally exasperated, looking up from his book. "Stop fretting. You will wear a hole in the floor."

Altaïr had been in a very poor mood since the rescue of the Auditore and their people, enough that he had even come into Malik's own chambers to vent it. _Usually_, Malik noted, sourly, Altaïr knew better than to crowd him when he was reading.

"He is not Ezio."

"So you have said. Ezio has lost his memory. He deserves sympathy, not animosity."

"Too many threads are wrong," Altaïr waved a hand dismissively. "He recognizes me, yet he does not, and he does not even know you. And if he recognizes me, why does he clearly not know Leonardo?"

"He knows Leonardo. The regard is there. If you want proof, just walk outside and hit Leonardo," Malik said flatly, "I will wager all the money I have that Ezio will try to kill you, _Maestro_ or not."

"It is regressed. He thinks they are only friends. It is obvious." Altaïr glared briefly out of the window, towards the courtyard. "It does not add together."

"I think it does. He reads blue, and he has lost his memory. Instead of thinking how selective it is, think of this: Ezio has lost his memory up until before the point where he was introduced to us. At that point, he did not love Leonardo."

"He remembers nothing about the war, and the war was being waged long before he was born," Altaïr retorted. "You can hear it in his voice, when he was asking you questions."

"Who am I to say how the mind works, particularly when it is damaged?" Malik countered, snapping his book shut. "They are guests. They are allies. Must I beat some sense into your head or will you _listen_?"

"You can try," Altaïr said, belligerent, and finally, utterly annoyed, Malik pounced. Altaïr ducked the first punch, blocked the second, but backed against the shelves, the knee caught him in the stomach. Even as he fell sharply to his knees, Altaïr still managed to catch Malik's wrist as the edge of his palm cut towards Altaïr's neck. "Finished?" His tone was harsh.

"Once you get out."

"Malik-"

"You were friends with Ezio for years, Altaïr," Malik sighed, tired, as Altaïr got to his feet, unsteadily, leaning against the wall. "Since you had first met him, and then through the letters. I am sure that there were others that were not attached to formal correspondence. You used to speak so warmly of him. Now, just because of this, you want to kill him."

"It is _precisely_ because we were friends that I must make sure." Altaïr retorted. "If someone has taken his place, I need to know what happened to Ezio. The real Ezio."

When the madness was upon Altaïr, when his mind was set and buried within the scars left by old betrayals, there was nothing Malik could do, no matter how he fought or what words he used. The ugly core of hatred that lay within Altaïr, that had been born on the day that he had been betrayed by his teacher, the day he had lost his family, was _there_, watching, and Malik would be damned if he would let Altaïr do something that he would later have cause to regret.

"Talk to him. If you can even bring yourself to do so." Malik ran a hand through his hair, walking back towards the bed to pick up his book. He stilled instantly as arms wove around his waist, lips pressing under his ear. "Do not touch me when you are like this."

"I will talk to him," Altaïr's voice was low, conciliatory. "For you."

"Do not do this for _my_ sake," Malik retorted coldly, though he relaxed tentatively into Altaïr's embrace, tilting his head to allow his teeth better access.

3.0

The 'true' Ezio Auditore, Altaïr determined, was essentially the same, still brash and idealistic, still concerned about the world and all of its problems. This was worse than an Ezio that was cold and ruthless, or an imposter; this one was _likeable_, like the first one, and so, this worsened matters.

Guilt had prepared an apology, an explanation, for the Ezio of this reality, guilt over the gift of the Shield and the refusal of the Auditore _Maestri_ to have it returned even in their hour of need, guilt that he had not ignored their determination. And, at the last, guilt that he had only offered sanctuary to the people who had ensured Masyaf's safety after Leonardo's message, even in the light of Masyaf's dwindling resources and space. With Ezio here, but not _the_ Ezio, this festered, unresolved. It seemed easier and more comfortable to resent him than to explain.

IV

Altaïr stared at the note that had come to Masyaf via pigeon for a long time, in silence, and then he thrust it at Malik and left the room.

Beside Malik, on the platform with the pigeon coop, Leonardo paled, clearly fearing the worst. "_Maestro_ Al-Sayf, what does it say?"

"That the _Maestri_ Auditore have survived, that Ezio has been successful in rescuing his father, assassinating Al Mualim, and retrieving the Apple. This is in his hand. Ezio is alive."

Leonardo crumpled back against the fragile wooden rail, visibly overwhelmed with relief. "Then… why was _Maestro_ ibn La-Ahad displeased?"

"He was not displeased," Malik handed Leonardo the note. "But it is difficult to explain. Someone else has closed a chapter on his life, on the ghosts that have haunted him for far too long. It is hard to face. May I trouble you to inform his family?"

"It will be my pleasure, _Maestro _Al-Sayf." Leonardo said, with a quick smile. "And, ah, good luck with _Maestro _ibn La-Ahad."

Predictably, he found Altaïr cross-legged on the edge of the highest roof in Masyaf, contemplating the sea. Carefully, Malik sat down beside him in companionable silence. In the distance, the white arcs of seagulls curled and dived around the fishermen boats, and the water glittered under the sun. Malik had never been fond of the sea, of the endless infinite that it represented and of its uncontrollable moods, but Altaïr had always said that it gave him perspective.

"I feel like I have been freed," Altaïr said finally, softly. "And yet, it is not in a way that I wanted. It is hard to describe."

"A death of an enemy is a death," Malik chose his words carefully. "I doubt that Ezio specifically journeyed to Jerusalem to kill him. If he did so, it must have been solely for his father's sake."

"A foolish interpretation of the Creed," Altaïr grunted, though he did not look displeased. "And a foolish child."

"Perhaps it is time to forgive him for not remembering you," Malik suggested, teasing.

"In losing his memory he has also forgotten his place." Altaïr retorted, narrowing his eyes.

"He has slain Al Mualim, retrieved the Apple, rescued his father, and all without support," Malik pointed out. "Perhaps he has earned his place. I do not know what _La Volpe_ had said to you, you and Ezio, but it has not mellowed your mood to him. I have asked you before, why you resent him-"

"Guilt," Altaïr said heavily, to Malik's surprise. "I wanted to apologize."

"_You_, apologize?" Malik smiled, and chuckled when Altaïr glared at him. "Over the matter of sanctuary?"

"We took the Shield from them, Malik! Because of that, Monteriggioni fell, and we lost… he lost his brothers."

"They _gave_ us the Shield, Altaïr. And they refused its return."

"We should have ignored them. Journeyed to Monteriggioni."

"And then Al Mualim may have attacked Masyaf." Malik sighed. "It was a difficult enough decision allowing them to come here. We are desperately low on supplies, on space. And they would have been a fat target the whole journey. You and I agreed that we should try to persuade them via our refusal to seek shelter somewhere closer, where the road would not be so long and so risky."

"But then we lost Damascus, and Masyaf needed Leonardo." Altaïr agreed. "At the very end, that was the decider. His last letter to me resented that. So I want to apologize. But he does not _remember_."

"Is it not a little unreasonable to punish him for a matter of which _you_ were the instigator, Altaïr?" Malik reached over, to put his hand on Altaïr's thigh, squeezing it lightly. "Let it be. And he has more than proven that he is not an imposter, I think. Honestly, Altaïr, if you think that Ezio is not who he is because he no longer tries to argue politics and policy with you… have you considered that it may be because you try to bite off his head whenever he even ventures into your line of sight?"

"Must you always be the voice of reason?" Altaïr, however, smiled faintly. "You, with your own foul temper?"

"Only when I see that reason is sorely lacking." Malik inched closer, and leaned forward, to nip Altaïr's jaw sharply enough that the other predator _growled_.

4.0

At the battlements, Ezio's words startled him: and humbled him, that all he had done to Ezio to date, all the petty injustices and tempers, were all _forgiven_, that Ezio had let it slide, like water off a duck's back. It was not because Altaïr was beneath his concerns, but the opposite: that for those people whom Ezio thought important, from _them_, such matters of disposition were simply insignificant.

This Ezio had lost much, and early in his life; earlier than Altaïr with Masyaf and Al Mualim, and yet it had not changed him. He had once spoken of vengeance against Rodrigo, against the Templar, and yet it did not consume him; still he laughed and loved like any other man. A strong heart, and a strong soul. The Apple had to be his to bear.

V

Ezio became boneless the moment he touched the Apple, slumping further against the couch. Leonardo sat anxiously beside him, tenderly stroking his cheek, the gesture so intensely private that Malik felt embarrassed to be in the same room.

"Call us if you cannot wake him in an hour," he said, clearing his throat.

"Of course," Leonardo nodded, with a weak smile. "I will."

Malik jerked his head at Altaïr, who inclined his in silent agreement, and they left the room, closing it behind them. He was a little surprised when Altaïr followed him into theirs: although Altaïr had returned with Ezio, he had been sullen and quiet even when addressed. They had had long quarrels before, in Masyaf, shouting matches and silent warfare and everything along the spectrum in between, and usually a ceasefire was called only when either side tired. Malik was not yet ready to make overtures, and Altaïr had clearly not been willing to break.

He arched an eyebrow at Altaïr in a silent question, even as he walked over to the desk, removing the artificial arm, laying it carefully on top, and Altaïr cleared his throat, looking away even as he shut the door.

"If you truly wish to know, Malik…"

_That_ surprised him. "Did you fall off the roof while chasing Ezio back here?"

"What?" Altaïr frowned. "No. What makes you _think_-"

"Concussion, perhaps." Malik said, keeping his expression as blank as possible. "Or some other form of trauma. This is quite unlike you."

At that, Altaïr was silent, walking around Malik to the window, leaning out, his palms splayed against the sill. "He told me not to hate myself."

"Do you?"

Instead of answering, Altaïr asked, "Do you wish that we love as they do?"

"No two people love in the same way," Malik said cautiously, his instant strategy in the face of a possible trap, "I cannot say."

"With no games," Altaïr continued quietly, "No arguments save for lovers' quarrels, with nothing to prove to each other, absolute and unassailable."

"The Italians seem to be a different breed of men," Malik said, keeping his tone light. "I know I cannot love as they do. It might bore me."

"Truly?"

"Could you? Would you want to?" Malik pressed his palm onto Altaïr's arm. "An independent soul like yours, and mine?"

"Or a lonely soul, that thinks itself independent," Altaïr returned, his tone distant. "Lonely and afraid."

"Is that what you think when we touch, Altaïr?" Malik retorted, challenging, jerking Altaïr around to face him. "Because I can assure you that it is not, not for _me_."

Altaïr stared at him, silent, even as Malik reached up to push back his cowl, and then he smiled, thin and wry. "Their way seems easier and more restful, certainly, but then, Leonardo is not so difficult a person as you, Malik."

"And Ezio is certainly not as cantankerous as _you_," Malik shot back, pulling Altaïr towards him for a kiss, insistent and demanding, growling as hands stroked up from his rump to the small of his back, rubbing at the base of his spine, his body instinctively tensing; the honed assassin in the back of his mind resenting the vulnerability.

The disciplined killers within them both did not understand sex, the necessity of going weaponless and bared, the pleasure of another body in dangerously close proximity. The constant need for restraint, to hold back instinct and trained reflexes, the frisson of risk from baring one's neck to the teeth of another killer; _this_ he would not trade, _could_ not.

When they broke for air, Altaïr's eyes were dilated, his teeth bared, and Malik smirked, his hand dropping to Altaïr's neck, to press his thumb lightly and pointedly over his Adam's apple, his fingers curling around the nape. Lust flared between them in the next, hungry kiss, and another, as Altaïr walked them impatiently back towards the bed, shoving Malik into it and snarling silently when Malik rolled, fingers clawed and back arched, to snap their positions in reverse. Altaïr's teeth sought his ear, and then his jaw, even as Malik raked his nails down his flanks; another twist and a growl, and Altaïr was on top, straddling his hips, kissing him roughly, his palms pressed hard against Malik's cheeks, Malik's fingers clenched around a wrist.

"Then you do not want to know," Altaïr panted, against his cheek, and Malik frowned for a moment before recalling the context.

"You gave your word to _La Volpe_."

"I did."

"Then, I do not want to know."

"_Then_?"

"I was angry about your _reasons_, Altaïr. It has been a long time, between us both, and still you cannot trust me." Malik leant up onto his elbow. "If we touch, if we speak, it must be as equals. I will not tolerate anything else, not like Leonardo, content to stay in Ezio's shadow."

"You are no less a man than any other," Altaïr said fiercely. "I have never said-"

"Even with only one arm?" Malik countered.

"That is-"

"You want me as an equal, your touch tells me as much, and yet outside of governance, outside of our bed, you do not treat me as such. _That_ is why I was angry."

"I…" Altaïr began, hesitated, then curled his hands tightly on the sheets beside Malik's head. "I see."

The rawness in Altaïr's tone softened his, turned it teasing. "An apology would be appreciated."

"Since when have you been one for apologies?" Altaïr retorted, though he pressed his lips to Malik's neck. "Either you insult me or you disregard the attempt."

"Then evidently your efforts to appease me are sorely lacking. As usual."

"I will make you eat those words, Malik."

5.0

Snapping his hips towards against Malik's thrusts, teeth clenched, back arched, Altaïr sank his teeth into his lover's shoulder, the fingers of one hand twisted over the flesh of Malik's missing arm, the other pinning Malik's wrist to the sheets just above his head, tangled in the sheets, his ecstasy interlaced with pain, copper between their tongues and blood flecked across their lips.

_The pup_, Malik whispered harshly, even as he jerked upwards, hard enough that Altaïr snarled into his ear and clenched his fingers tightly enough into Malik's arm to bruise, _He was watching_.

_Let him learn_, Altaïr retorted, rolling his hips as he dug knees and toes into the bed, forcing Malik to arch in a taut bow beneath him and mark his arm with his teeth.

VI

Malik walked sedately beside Leonardo even as Altaïr chased Ezio through the crowds, and then up onto a strut, a windowsill, and then the rooftops, ignoring the gasps and gestures from startled passers-by.

"Abandoned again," Leonardo said, chuckling. "I am sorry, Malik. You are shackled with me."

"Why should I risk my neck for no reason? Let them tire themselves out. They will be less annoying on the journey." They were heading towards the gate, to join a merchant caravan on its way to Roma, and Malik was mentally reviewing their resources. Leonardo would still need special provisions, but there was a small bazaar close to the gate where they could purchase a sufficiency.

"Joining a set of caravans. It will be a slow journey," Leonardo agreed. "I give it two days before they ride out to find trouble."

"Ten florins on one day."

"Done." Leonardo studied him thoughtfully. "You seem well-resolved, friend Malik, for such a long argument."

"We have always argued. Since we were boys. If we did not fight bitterly at least once a month, I would probably miss it." Malik admitted, smirking.

"Truly? I would not understand," Leonardo said doubtfully. "I do not think I have ever seen Ezio angry at me. Frustrated, yes, or exasperated. But not anger."

"I do not think you could give him cause for anger, Leonardo."

"I… I would surprise you."

"No, Leonardo," Malik said gently. "I said 'could', and not 'would'."

"Oh. That is true." Leonardo blushed. "Certainly he has not had a scarcity of reasons. But you are truly all right?"

"Yes I am." It had been a long and ardent evening. "It is a little different for us. Neither of us need nor desire the other's approval. So when we fight, usually it is only resolved in contest, either in the courtyard or-"

"Ah," Leonardo said, his blush deepening though he clearly did not comprehend the import of Malik's words: he could not, without a predator's mind. Now, and as before, Malik did not envy him.

6.0

_You cannot end it this way_, Altaïr shouted into the white, his words slithering away into scrolling text; around him, time flowed forward and away, in a rapid-fire litany of brief images. _Ezio!_

_I must_. Ezio's voice was an echo that came from all around him. _It is the only way. I thought you would understand, Altaïr_.

He did; Allah forgive him, but he did, and he resented it. _You are doing this for Leonardo._

_I am doing this for us all,_ Ezio corrected. _Time and place, returned to how they must be, so that this world can continue to exist. You must understand._

_In the past, without you?_

_Why, _Maestro, Ezio laughed, all around him, almost inhuman, _Would you miss me?_

_Malik, _Altaïr retorted simply. Without Ezio's unrelenting interference, would Altaïr still remember all that he had learned… would he have _healed_-

_You will learn again and you will heal. Eventually_. Ezio amended. _You will._

_So you say, _Altaïr snapped, adrift in time.

_Because if you do not, _Ezio continued, solemnly, _Then I will come to Masyaf to look for you, old man. Beat it into you, perhaps._

_Hah! As if you could best me, even as you are now. _Altaïr relaxed, grudgingly, a little reassured. _Your word upon it._

_My word upon it._ Ezio whispered, and he awoke.

-fin: this ended up a bit longer than I thought. AS ALWAYS. Sorry to the people who scan fics for porn, no blow by blow in this fic. ;3

Lonely soul reference to manga that I translated with my fragile grasp of my mother tongue, haha. Some kindly soul in return has scanlated it with the text. The 4chan community is so giving! It is available on 4chan, or sendspace here:  
.com/file/rjg6rf - if you cannot see the link (FFNET), go to this fic in my livejournal from my profile page. I didn't save it (since I can read the original version, lol), so don't ask me for an alternative link if it's broken.

'if it is unbreakable to Leonardo' – from Terry Pratchett. My Leonardo (or at least, the river version) is based off his, which would likely have been clear to anyone who reads Pratchett. :3

Regarding Ezio never being angry with Leonardo, this Leonardo didn't have the Flying Machine Hissy Fit Incident of Abusive Boyfriend Bastardy. Though I only made it aloft a few seconds before faceplanting into a tower, seriously Ezio, would you jump off a rooftop in that contraption and _not_ expect to break some bones?

Also, I'm not really fond of Desmond or Shaun (it's not their fault, it's just that compared to the extremely colorful and freerun fun places that are in the Animus, when it's in Real Time I feel bored and irritable), but I'm surprised no one has drawn Desmond watching Avatar with the gang. "Can you program the Animus to load Pandora?" or "This is way cooler than Masyaf" would all be possibilities. XD-


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